


Ribbons Undone

by Missy



Category: Army of Darkness (1992), Evil Dead (Movies), Evil Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bedding Ceremony, Childhood, F/M, Growing Up, Minor Character Death, Parenthood, Parents & Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ash's daughter's impetuous behavior sends her father on a trip down memory lane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ribbons Undone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GypsyJr (HippieGeekGirl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HippieGeekGirl/gifts).



> Written for HippieGeekGirl's birthday, and also for ladiesbingo.

Lady Judith Williams is exactly sixteen-and-a-half years old. Mistaking her for a "sixteen" or "fifteen"-year old young lady in her presence will earn you a glare. Consider yourself lucky - a year or two ago swift kick in the shin would have followed the very suggestion that she were any younger or older than she precisely is. But those are days gone past; she has vowed to her mother to comport herself in a most civilized manner, and for a whole half year she has managed to stick to her promise.

Judith is easy to pick out in a crowd, for she's often the one pushing herself to the fore of it. Tall for her age, with a mass of dark hair that resists tortoiseshell combs and silver pins, her eyes are a shade of brown that's near to black, heavily-fringed and wide in their setting. She has her mother's nose, turned up at the  
tip, and the heart shape of her face - what promise to be the swan-length of her neck and graceful limbs - but her lips are her father's, thinner on the top than the bottom. She's often most grave in her reasoning;  
too serious, her father complains; forever in motion, her mother worries- darting through the village to the  
bake shop to sneak a sweet, to the stables to visit her gray pony - her pale violet skirts flying and her hair  
falling free of its ineffectual braids.

At the moment, she's disobeying direct orders by leaning too far over the side of the battlement wall, her  
gaze focused on the dirt road leading into Kandar and the riding party making its approach.

"By the saints," her mother hisses, pulling her physically backward with her free arm, "ye'll dash thy  
brains on the flagstone!"

"Tush!" Judith scoffs, which earns her a glower from her mother. She smiles slyly in return, dimples  
dotting her cheeks. "Father says I have the balance of a cat."

"Thy father did not pay witness to thy performance at the May Day festivities," Mother responds, her  
daughter's inherited charm making her smile just slightly 

"God's nightshirt!" Judith bursts out, blushing. "'Tis four years gone since that day!"

"Aye, and a day I shall not forget. 'Tisn't often that my child trips up the crown prince of England with  
her ribbons and makes him cry." She grunts and shifts her shoulders beneath the heavy weight of Judith's  
six-month-old sister, a brown-eyed girl called Sofia by most and hellion by her siblings, in deference to  
her already-stormy temperament. "Bank thy fire, daughter. Father shalt not be pleased to see thee  
frown."

Her mother's weariness suddenly punctures Judith's consciousness. "Shall I take her?" she asks. The  
strain of raising the family without a nursemaid present must, after all, be wearying after a time (her last  
nursemaid had been taken by _them_ , and right before Judith's amazed eyes. Her father's methods,  
ever swift, left parts of the poor wench embedded in the wall behind Sofia's cradle).

In a trice, the child is hoisted into Judith's embrace, and her mother takes the opportunity to boost herself  
up on the stone wall, peering at the troop of riders as they thunder up. Judith would pout at the unfairness  
of her action, but...

A fanfare blasts. "Is it them, mother?" she pipes, her hands tightening instinctually on a sleeping Sofia.  
The question is redundant - of course it's her father, finally home again.

Her mother answers by breaking into a dead run.

Judith's progress, slowed by the presence of little Sofia, feels glacial. She's taking the stairs two by two,  
her hair unbinding with every jounce. 

"Jude!" The high-pitched voice, tinged with a soft brogue, doesn't stop Judith from taking another flight.  
She's nearly to the inner bailey by the time Isobail Stewart catches up with her, panting and red-cheeked,  
her light red hair having escaped her tightly-braided coronet. A hand turns her in mid-stride and brings  
her to a halt. "Blast it, Jude, where are you running off to?" Isobail asks.

Judith pointed toward the outer bailey - the riders have thundered up the drawbridge en masses and are  
dismounting in a mass of admiring handmaidens, wives, stableboys and men-at-arms. "I do believe our  
fathers and my brothers have graced us with their presence."

"Fi!" Isobail moans, leaning against a stone archway. The girl - two years older than Judith and a  
hundred pounds heavier - bends and takes off one of her slippers. Tilting it upside down, she sends a  
small stone rolling across the flagstone-covered ground. "The last messenger said they'd be in Kandar in  
a fortnight. 'Tis been less than a full day past since he arrived!"

"Ye know Father would not miss my mother's birthday for all the world, Iso," Judith pointed out  
reasonably. "They likely rode pell-mell across the border to arrive in time." She cannot help but smile at  
her father's clearly-defined passion for her mother, for his family.

"Tra la," remarks Isobail sourly, shoving her foot back into her shoe. "And tomorrow I shall be forced to  
hie with my Da back to Shale." A wicked smile crosses her merry face, marking her quite clearly as the  
daughter of Henry the Red. "I would have had one more day to spend with ye, hiding frogs in Hal's  
doublet."

Judith frowns at the mention of Isobail's younger brother, Judith's senior by only a year. "Aye, any time  
spent vexing Hal is a worthy moment passed." The boy has been a large source of disquiet in Judith's  
already-blemished summer; just this morning he had buried a beetle in her oat porridge, laughed loudly at  
her screams of horror. It was, he told her mother when she investigated, an attempt to "relax" Judith - to  
rid her of her "damnably English" seriousness. The entirety of the summer has progressed on a similar  
note, with Isobail and Judith in an all-out prank war with the young future-Duke, a conflict that rapidly  
threatens to undo Judith's promise to her mother. Yet his words haunt her. "Iso - do ye believe me to be  
stiff-necked?"

Isobail sighs, refusing to give in to her friend's momentary anxiety. "Jude, dinna pay address to my  
brother. The boy arrived strange and continues so."

"I would not call him strange," Judith begins, "more...."

"...Trying? Irritating?" Isobail offers.

"Confounding...ye know I do love a well-placed jest, but I cannot help but be offended by Hal's constant  
larking." Her father remarks often that Judith has grown up too fast; perhaps she has, but it's not an  
uncommon trait among her peers. 

Isobail sighs. "Hellfire, if ye worry of thy nature in constant ye'll never feel joy!" she seizes Judith's free  
hand and drags her into the sunlight. "Come, art late to the celebration!"

By the time the girls reach the outer bailey, their men have thoroughly mingled in with the cheering  
throng of serfs and tradesmen, and it's impossible for Judith to instantly pick out her own relatives among  
the heated press of flesh. In the rush, Judith and Isobail are separated, and it's all Judith can do to keep  
ahold of Sofia as they shove their way through the chattering men.

She spots her eldest brother Robert, towering over the rest of the foot soldiers, glittering in his mail and  
armor. "Brat!" he greets her when she manages to part the crowd with stubborn force. 

"Robbie! By the rood, you've gotten so tall..." He kisses her forehead quickly, and Sofia awakens in the  
fol de rol and begins to wail. Judith frowns at the sudden noise, and Sofia struggles in her sister's grip.  
Frustrated, Judith tries mightily to reposition Sofia against her inner arm. It's a useless effort - Sofia  
reaches out for Robert, tearfully. "Take hold of thy heathen sister and give me leave to contemplate  
thee."

"Which one?" earns him a muffled and incredibly foul string of four-letter words. He sighs and takes the  
baby from Judith's aching arm. "Do not let mother hear you curse." A thoughtful pause. "The wee  
hellion has grown, I see." He holds Sofia up against the blue sky, cutting her squeals off, turning them  
into laughter. "And ye," he declares, "have grown as well, sister. 

She smiles shyly. "Tush, Robbie, I cannot be much changed in two month's time!"

"Yee're coming into thy prime, and in coming become mother's mirror image." 

Judith smiles at the suggestion - her mother is a beauty of legend, and her daughter is possessed ever so  
slightly of the Williams vanity. "I see court life has improved thy tongue, brother." She crosses her arms  
over her chest. "And yet I doubt it needed polishing..." 

Robert laughs heartily, and in doing so resembles her father so clearly she giggles aloud. "Ye may ask  
the maids of Londontown of that."

Judith tucks her fists against her hips. "Ye're a rogue, Robbie," she frowns as another peal of laughter  
fills the air. "Do not laugh! Ye should be more concerned of thy honor."

"Art ever concerned for honor," Robert replies, his face perfectly straight but his tone teasing. "Hath an  
example to set for the sprouts, after all."

Judith relaxes, her shoulders loosening visibly. "And where be our young brothers?"

"They rode with Duke Henry's man-at-arms." Two high voices begin to pipe 'Joot!", and her question is  
answered more than thoroughly by the sudden impact of twin bodies against her chest.

"Ah!" she exclaims, as they wriggle and laugh beneath her patting hands. She peeks down at their little  
faces. "Geoffrey, ye're as dirty as a pig farmer. Peter! Ye're scratched!" Judith licks her left index  
finger quickly and began to dab a blot of dirt away from the cut marring the younger boy's cheek. She  
tisks as Peter squirms and whines under her touch. "'Tisn't deep, but I shall have to dress it with witch-  
hazel."

"No, Joot!" Peter whines.

"Yes, Peter!" she replies. "Take heed, or ye'll be as scarred as father."

Peter whines again, and Judith gives up with a sigh. Her gaze shifting from Peter to Geoffrey, Judith  
briefly muses at the similarity between the dark-haired, brown-eyed boys. At ten and six they're near to  
identical in their features and behavior; until Geoffrey's recent growth spurt they had even been similarly  
short of stature. Their general sameness often leads them into quarrels, and that memory sparks Judith to  
worry. "Ye've been fighting again," she accuses them both.

"No, no!" they both cry together. 

It's Geoffrey, the more gregarious one, who continues, "father let us practice our swords with the  
squires."

Judith chuckles. "He did? La, dinna tell mother."

"He already made us swear not to, on our very lives," Peter says solemnly.

"Aye, he would - and where be our father, boys?" Judith wonders, scanning passing faces in the thinning  
crowd. 

This encourages both of them to burst out simultaneously with a series of contradictory directions. Judith  
gives a frustrated sigh and continues to peer through the masses, until they finally clear and reveal her  
father and mother.

It's a moment they undoubtedly wish their children were not paying witness to, as they happen to be  
kissing rather passionately. Peter makes a gagging noise, Geoffrey cries his disgust, and Judith averts her  
eyes to the suddenly beautiful stone wall a few inches behind her.

"Ash!" her mother exclaims suddenly. "The children!"

"Aww, c'mon, they've seen us kiss plenty of..." he clears his throat, apparently noticing the audience  
they'd gathered. "Oh." 

Peter and Geoffrey pull themselves out of Judith's grip, running toward their mother. When Judith  
manages to wipe the embarrassment off of her face, she lifts her own head and smiles.

Her father's arms are open.

She runs toward him, her unbound hair flying, laughing when she's caught up in his arms. The embrace  
is brief, but the reward of his undivided attention means more.

 _"Father."_ The word is a sigh of relief.

He looks down, towering, forever a giant to her. "You got taller again," he teases. 

"Robbie said the same," she declares. "I find the notion tiresome."

"Can't help it if it's true," he points out. He slings an arm around her shoulder. "Were you good for your  
mom?"

Judith smiles impishly. "Aye...and nay."

"That's my girl," he grins. "D'you have fun with Hal and Isobail?"

"Aye, with Isobail," she says deliberately. "Did thy audience with the king go as planned?"

He shakes his head, "it was fine." An easy shrug - her father doesn't impress well. He hates court life,  
only spending time with Edward because the king has a fondness for him, and to better support the cases  
of his children. 'Twas a miracle that he didn't hold her father's strong support of the Scotch cause against  
him - she supposes his ability to slay the undead made him valuable as an ally, as he'd nearly ridden to  
Bannockburn to join in the battle. Were it not for a sudden attack by their usual undead menace and her  
mother's pleading he would have stood beside Duke Henry and fought to the last man. Her dark thoughts  
must have telegraphed themselves - he pinches the bridge of her nose gently, fondly. "Too serious again,  
sweetheart." She frowns up at him. "If it wasn't okay I'd've told you it wasn't okay." He laughs at her  
expression. "You look just like your mom when you do that." 

Judith squares her shoulders. "Aye, I've spent much of the summer by her side and at the art of  
domestication." She beams. "I shall not shame ye at court, father."

"You're too young to go to court," he declares. "Maybe next year." Her disappointment must have been  
quite clear, as he squeezes her arm. "D'you get something for your mom?"

"Aye - Isobail and I picked wildflowers for the table this morn...." 

His hand tightened upon her upper arm. "Did you go near the woods?"

"Do ye think me daft?" she wonders, completely indignant. She'll never go near them again, not after....

He releases a breath. "Good." He steers her toward the inner bailey, his long stride encouraging her to  
walk faster. A glance over his shoulder at the waning sunlight reminds them both of what arrives in the  
kingdom when their sun goes down. "Let's go inside..." 

The rapidly-clearing courtyard and her grumbling stomach made that idea a most agreeable one. "I  
missed ye, father," she says, leaning against his strong shoulder, feeling completely safe. 

He smiles just for her. "I missed you, too."

*** 

As evening sets over the border country the high table at Castle Kandar, always a boisterous place,  
reaches a level of merriment not seen in years. Mountains of food tempt the senses - whole roasted  
ducks, massive slabs of beef, a brace of geese and quarters of roasted deer and an entire suckling pig with  
an apple stuffed in its mouth; loaves of warm bread and freshly-made butter from the dairy yard; wheels  
of orange-tinged cheese; fresh oranges from the last of the harvest of the season, platters heaped with  
sugared dates and figs, a large dish of her mother's pickled lemons, bowls of snap peas and shelled beans,  
trays of tarts and fresh custards. At the center of the table, in a fired clay vessel painted over with the  
Williams family's coat of arms, stood the flowers Judith and Isobail picked that afternoon - a colorful  
assortment of wild late-summer blossoms. It is a bounty so rich that Judith feels a mild stab of guilt as  
she sits down to eat - only the realization that the castle's peasant population repast nearly as heartily this  
eve assuage her worries.

Seated between Isobail and Robbie, she does not lack for conversation, though the two of them prefer to  
talk around her when they're in shared company. Judith masks her amusement at Isobail's coyness as,  
blushing prettily, her best friend nibbles on a strawberry tart and bats her lashes at Robbie's suggestion  
that yellow suits her figure. Judith bites back a laugh, as it is rather typical of her merry friend to lose all  
sense of proportion when faced with Robbie's wit. 

"And how do ye feel about the color, my lady Jude?" comes a rich brogue from across the table.

Judith's shoulders tense at Hal's lazy inquiry, and she glares back. "I am not thy lady," she says, her  
temper barely controlled, "but I find the color pleasing."

The boy smirks back at her, his green eyes glimmering. "I dinna understand why. It makes thy skin  
sallow and dulls thy hair."

Judith's fingers itch against the homespun table cloth. "Not upon my person - in the house, upon the  
landscape...ye would not know much of that, as Scotland is naught but mud-crust." It is a lame insult, but  
she cannot come up with more when she wants to throw her goblet at his head.

"Ye've forgotten the heather, Jude," he tsks her, sipping from his cup, resting it upon the table. "Perhaps  
the RICHNESS of Kandar has blinded ye to aught but the sight of sand." 

Judith tries very hard to melt Hal's face with her gaze, but his smirking visage remains untouched - a  
much slimmer, taller and younger version of his father's, capped with a wavy head-full of red hair. Judith  
chokes down a foul curse and concentrates very hard on the food before her; by the time their servants  
arrived to remove their dirty trenchers Judith feels like an overstuffed partridge. She groans as a massive  
white-flour cake decorated with heather blossoms arrives from the kitchens - all she can do is turn over  
her plate and think of an excuse that will allow her to gracefully arrive at the great room's door.

It was a very good thing that the Williams household has long ago given up the nominal effort of  
maintaining formality at meals; no one remarks as she rises and gracefully vacates her chair. Beside her,  
Isobail urges Robbie to his feet.

"Come, ye must show me all of the fashionable dances ye learned at court..." she ignores Robbie's  
protests, dragging him before Judith's father and mother, Judith at their heels. She curtsies. "Pardon us,  
Baron and Baroness Williams."

Judith's father stares blankly at Isobail as she stays bowed, an expectant look on her face, and her mother  
pokes him in the ribs. "She asks to be dismissed, m'lord."

His features harden slightly. "I knew that! Go! Anyone who wants to go can go!" he booms, making  
Isobail wince backward before dragging Robbie away to the great room.

Judith rushes up to her father, bows, and begs him for similar leave. "Have fun," he orders her, which  
guarantees she will not.

In the great room, jugglers mill about the many cushioned sofas and chairs arranged with the haphazard ;  
acrobats stack themselves into decorative shapes at the center of the stage. Torches blaze against the cool  
brick walls, throwing light on the intricately-woven tapestries decorating it, and there is a smaller repast  
of cold meat and punch to be eaten and sipped throughout the night on a nearby table.

Judith watches her best friend dance with her brother - soon they're simply one of the many couples  
occupying the floor. A number of neighbors have driven to Kandar for the party - the Heaths of Duxton  
Keep, the Valmont Clan of Grayberry Cove; only her cousin Arthur and his wife remain absent, due to  
her recent travail in childbed. Judith - watchful, and without a partner in gossip - occupies herself in  
brooding thought as she leans against a nearby wall, humming in time with the softly played lute music  
strummed by wandering minstrels. Soon her eyes close, the music enrapturing her.

Her peace is - of course - spoiled quickly. "Dinna frown," Hal instructs, coming to stand beside her,  
"ye'll mar they brow."

"What care have ye for my brow?" Judith asks, without opening her eyes.

"I...I mean that..." he clears his throat, the noise inspiring her to open her eyes and watch him. How odd  
\- he almost seems concerned. "Must ye watch me? Thy eyes..."

"I have only two," she says reasonably. "And could I choose, I would not favor thee with either."

His expression darkens. "Ice courses through thy body, woman."

Hr spine stiffens, and she turns toward him. "I am," she says, in a tone controlled anger that would give  
the average man pause and make her mother smile, "the Lady Judith Mary Eleanor Marguerite Bonnie  
Williams, future proprietress of this place. Ye will NOT address me as 'woman' as if I were a common  
frow!"

"Indeed, ye may well be," he snaps, all of the merriment gone from his green eyes. "Ye strut about the  
borderland as if ye own it, yet the court of Edward still talks of thy parent's marriage."

Judith glares. "There is no idle talk about them -I would hear it, thy sister is the most notorious gossip on  
either side of the border."

Hal smirks. "They hide it from you, of course - yer father art ever a wolf at the door, frightening away  
the courtiers sniffing about. But ye, Jude, are made of steel, and deserve honesty, so I shall explain -  
there is lingering talk that they parent's marriage is morganatic."

Judith laughs. "My father was lifted to the barony before they wed."

"Sir Charles Witcomb insists he attended and it was a left-handed affair."

"Sir Charles Witcomb is a drunken fool infatuated with the Princess Mary!" Judith cries. "He would say  
anything to discredit my father after he told the king of his guild's dealings with the French."

"Perhaps it is true. Perhaps not. I only wish to make thee see thy own humanity, Jude," Hal leans in  
closer to her, the sudden warmth of his body closing in on hers an alarming feeling. "I dinna mean to spar  
with thee so oft. Tis...ye're..." He's frighteningly close to her person, his head leaning down toward  
her. A queer feeling filled Judith's heart, one that made her tilt her face up toward his. "I am fond of  
thee, be ye bastard or not."

A swim in an ice covered lake could not have cooled Judith's overheated curiosity more quickly. "I. Am.  
No. BASTARD." Her fist connects with his nose before she can formulate a better escape plan.

In the ensuing melee, Judith loses her good silver hair clip, and her left slipper flies into the punchbowl,  
where it raises a wave of chilled wassail that stains her good dress; Hal's fist connects with her jaw, then  
gives her a black eye, but in her blind rage Judith sees nothing but her fist pummeling his nose.  
Somehow she ends up beneath him, his hands on her shoulders trying to shake sense into her.

"HAL! By the rood, lad, what do you do?" It's Henry, Hal's father, who pulls him off of Judith's flailing  
form. 

"She attacked me with no proper cause!" Hal whines, glaring down at Judith.

"JUDITH." Shame fills the girl at her mother's horrified shout. Turning her head, she notices the crowd  
she's gathered, the mess she's made, and the open-mouthed stares of her parents and their liegemen.  
"Explain!" her mother demands, her hands on her hips.

"I...he..." she can't explain to them her conflicted feelings, and telling them of the rumors in front of  
such an assemblage would dishonor them. 

"Go to your room," her father demands.

"But he..." 

"GO TO YOUR ROOM." It's a tone of voice that's caused men twice her size to wet their breeches.  
Judith stands, manages an embarrassed curtsey, and flees the scene, her eyes filled with tears.

*** 

Ash surveys the damage before him with a detached sense of amusement, combined with a stronger sense  
of anger. Sheila stands in the stairwell, bidding their guests a good night; Henry inhabits a far corner of  
the room, kneeling in front of a duvet as he packs Hal's bloody nose with a strip of linen; servants scurry  
about, trying to clean and right the mess Judith's made of the small banquet table. He pays the musicians  
and acrobats just enough money to encourage them to spend the night - they will entertain at tomorrow's  
meal instead.

As the room clears out, Ash thinks of his eldest daughter and smirks. He knew the second he saw her that  
Judith would be trouble some day. And 'some day' has arrived far too quickly for his liking.

Sheila strides back into the great room - in less than a heartbeat, she's in his arms. "The girl is an  
impossibility, m'lord," she complains softly against his chest.

"Wait 'til she hits eighteen."

The explanation is - naturally - not good enough for Sheila. "Two months of instruction in deportment  
flown into the moat," she sighs. "Judith shall never see London at this rate."

"I still don't think she needs to leave," he grumbles. "She's too young to be that far away from home for  
so long."

Sheila sighs, and Ash knows he's in for a Lecture In How Fourteenth Century Noblewomen Are  
Supposed To Behave. "Shall I number the reasons she must? The King is my distant cousin, and she has  
no lordling betrothed. My mother would allow me to fly to court on a lesser excuse - once spent a year at  
court between shedding betrotheds."

"Sixteen's also too young to think about marrying her off." Ash doesn't even want to contemplate the  
notion of his daughter leaving Kandar so quickly. The rest of Sheila's sentence suddenly makes impact.  
"Fiancés?"

"I was promised in the cradle to Marcus of Orange, but he died of the grippe at two," Sheila explains. "I  
need not repeat the circumstances of my betrothal to Sir Jacques..."

"Aww, FUCK JACK." He hates even thinking of the man.

Sheila's fingers tighten against his back, but her smile turns playful. "'Tis sixteen years past, m'lord.  
Have ye grown so soft in thy old age that ye cannot discern that ye've won me long ago?"

His arms tighten around her waist at this reminder of his upcoming fortieth birthday. "I dunno. What's  
your name again?" Her fist collides with his flank, but it's a soft punch that makes him laugh. "I think it  
starts with an 's'. Sally? Susan?" Another punch lands a little higher on his side. "Ow! Damn it, Sheila,  
that one really hurt!"

"Ye'd best remember my name, Ashley," she counters saucily, deliberately using his full name. Her hand  
strokes the flesh she'd recently punched. "Ye'll be shouting it before the dawn."

He grins down at her, completely prepared to carry her off to their chamber. Unfortunately, he notices  
Hal and Henry and reality inopportunely asserted itself. "Got a couple of things to fix before I do that."

Sheila releases a soft sigh at that notion and releases him, content to simply stand at his side. "Ye wish to  
question Hal?"

"Sounds like a good plan." He takes her arm and leads her across the room.

When they cross the room they interrupt Henry in the middle of a very long and furious lecture. "...And  
ye shall apologize to Lady Judith for calling her a bastard!" Henry concludes. 

Ash's hands are around Hal's neck in a microsecond. "WHAT did you call my daughter?" 

"He cannot answer you with a hand about his throat, lad," Henry notes. The calm practicality of his  
friend's voice breaks through Ash's fury and he drops the kid back onto the duvet.

"Talk."

Hal trembles slightly. "I but meant to tease her," he explains. "The girl is so damnably serious, surely ye  
can see..."

"No, I don't see," Ash growls. "Start talking - or I'll pitch your ass into the pit."

Hal flings a look of utter fear in his father's direction, but Henry shrugs. "I would do the same, were a  
mon so discourteous to Isobail."

The youth gulped before laying the entire story at their feet. "...It is true, isn't it, Da? Is their marriage  
not morganatic? Were they not married three times, the last with the lady in childbed with Judith?"

Through the course of the tale, Ash's jaw has hardened to iron, and Sheila's fingers have tightened upon  
his. He glances at her quickly to assure himself that her temper remains manageable, but her cool  
expression shows none of the anger her grip betrays.

"Ye've let yer company play thee falsely, boy," Henry responds. "Tis an ancient lie begun by the  
Baroness' former betrothed. And a story that is not for thy ears."

The lad blushes. "I apologize," he murmurs. "And I shall apologize to Lady Judith on the morrow." He  
rakes a hand through his thick hair. "I fear she stirs a madness in my blood that drives me to rashness,  
and it sorely tries my control."

"Madness?" Ash bites back a laugh in spite of his still-bubbling anger. His Judith is a little stiff-necked  
and occasionally mischievous; a wild but good girl at heart. The notion of her driving a boy to high  
passion is a foreign one to him, and an unwelcome reminder that she's growing up. "Judith?"

Hal's slowly-spreading blush matches the pale red of his hair "Aye," he says, quietly. "I know not what  
to do when confronted by her face, so I revert to my childhood."

"That's no way to court a lass, son..." Henry puts in.

"Woah, wait a minute - he's not courting my daughter." This is all going far too fast for Ash's liking. 

"I believe he is, m'lord," Sheila suggests, her hand skating up his left arm in a soothing manner.

He pulls out of her grip. "No he's not! I didn't give him permission to..." Ash's eyes dart about in his  
head as he tries to remember the proper protocol for the situation. 

"Ye didn't ask the Baron's leave, laddie?" Henry's expression is deadly serious, but Ash can nearly hear  
the laughter he's smothered out of his voice.

"I did not think Judith willing. But I would attempt it, would the Baron consent." 

Ash groans and rubs his right hand over his face - the chilly metal is an oddly soothing sensation. "Let  
me get back to you on that." That's going to require a conversation with Judith, and talking to the girl has  
become an odd problem all its own lately.

Hal stands, managing a formal bow for Sheila. "I am sorry we disturbed thy birthday, Baroness  
Williams." 

Sheila smiles, pats his shoulder. "It could not be helped. But ye will remember to control thy tongue,  
will ye not?"

"Aye."

"I shall ensure he will. Hie thee to bed, laddie or ye'll wake the Baron's sons." Hal had been installed in  
and Peter and Geoffrey's room in their absence, and will spend the night on a straw pallet on their floor.

Henry laughs as Hal scrambles up from bended knee and bows to Ash. "Good eve, Baron Williams."

"Yeah." He reaches out and with lightening quickness pulls the child closer. In a rushed hiss, he adds,  
"If you EVER hurt my daughter again, I'll cut you in half. Got it?" 

Hal manages a swift nod, at what point Ash finally lets go of him. All three of the adults watch him  
scramble away, amused in varying ways.

"Tis my fault that he's a rogue with clay feet." Henry finally remarks. 

"Tush, Henry," Sheila says, trying to massage the tension out of Ash's shoulders. 

"'Tis. He and Isobail both lack the influence of a mother's touch." He lifts his tankard, taking a sip of  
beer. "They alike lack matches and future trusts. 'Tis this damn war..."

Ash feels his own anger recede slightly. "No one's business who they marry, anyway. And Bonnie's  
impossible to replace," he points out. They had all admired Henry's late wife, a courageous woman who  
had died in a courageous way.

"And I'm not mon enough to fill the void of her leaving," his eyes rest upon Sheila with a fondness that  
causes Ash to reach out and pull her against his side. "I think ye'd have the same problem, lad."

"Tush," Sheila says, her tone feather-light. "He would. Art the Promised One, and I am but a woman."

Ash says nothing - knows that Henry's right and he doesn't want to live in a world without her after  
loving her for so long. "Forget about it," he requests. "You're coming with me," he tells Sheila, pulling  
her a tad closer to the door. "I didn't give you your birthday present."

Sheila smiles coquettishly. "And I have waited the night for it to arrive, m'lord," she smiles, her fingers  
slipping down his side.

His smile's only vaguely wicked when he takes her right hand in left. "Don't have to look far. It's right  
here..." He's drawing it down his body, to the left front pocket of his pants.

She gasps, misinterpreting his touch. "Not afore Henry!"

Their guest laughs, getting up and passing them at the doorway. "Good eve. I sense 'twill be a merry  
one, had ye my wishes or not."

"Good eve, Duke Henry," Sheila says, without looking up.

"Yeah, see you," Ash mutters, all of his attention on Sheila now. Once they're alone, he pulls her out the  
great room door. "'Cmon..." 

Ash leads her up the back staircase, four flights up, not to their chamber but to the hall outside it. He lets  
go of her hand and reaches into his pocket. "Turn around," he demands. Sheila huffs her annoyance  
before doing so. "Close your eyes," he adds. That gives him time to withdraw the glittering trinket, loop  
it around her neck and steer her toward a small mirror installed along the far wall. He hates that thing, but  
Sheila insists on certain amenities for their guests. Once it's carefully clasped, he tells her, "open 'em."

Sheila's eyes flicker open, then glow in the bright torch light. He's given her a necklace of hammered  
gold and pale pink gems, a graceful circlet that glitters in the light, all of which bring out the paleness of  
her skin and the reddish tone of her hair. He knows from the pleased surprise on her face that she feels the  
significance of the action - for he has given her ear bobs and bracelets, and hair jewels of all sort - never  
a necklace in these eighteen years gone by. Sheila spins in his grip and loops her arms around his neck,  
pressing rapid kisses to his cheek and every other reachable part of his face.

"You like it?" he manages, half- smothered in her loving touch.

"Tis glorious. And quite pink."

"Pink's your lucky color."

"Favorite," she corrects gently. "Nay lucky." She'd been wearing pink the night she'd been carried off  
and assaulted by... 

His fingers slip beneath her chin, lifting it gently. "You were wearing pink when you met me."

A grin lights her face. "Nay, m'lord. 'Twas green."

"You know that doesn't count. Everything before I saved you from that witch shouldn't."

"La, it does. 'Tis part of our tale..." She nibbles his lower lip before punching his left shoulder. "That ye  
remember, and yet my name slips thy mind!"

He grunts. "I suck at words. Gimmie a figure or something and..." The soft cry of a baby comes from  
the nursery and he groans. 

"Tis time for her supper," Sheila sighs, withdrawing from his embrace. "Perhaps ye should convey my  
apologies to Judith, m'lord."

He frowns. "You want me to talk to her?" One eyebrow goes up. "This isn't a chick thing?"

"Ye understand the ways of a man - ye're one..."

"Last time I looked..."

"La? 'Tis been so long that I've forgotten..."

He growls and presses his body hard against hers, allowing no further misunderstandings. "That enough  
proof?"

Sheila grins. "Aye..." He closes her words off with a kiss, pushing her to the wall, a gesture that's  
accompanied by a much louder wail from Sofia. Sheila pushes him gently away - with a moan, he lets go  
of her and she continues to walk. "She has need of discourse with thee. Ye understand that thy absence  
has been a long one, Ashley."

His brows draw together. "Okay." He's probably going to fuck this one right up, but it's his daughter -  
she's likely to forgive him.

Sheila laughs, walking two steps to the door of the nursery and pulling it open. They both pause at the  
image before them.

"...And then," Robbie says, "the dragon swooped down from high above! I raised my shield to protect  
this poor wee child and..." 

Ash, unable to choose between laughter and anger, simply shakes his head at Robbie's wild story. Their  
son looks up and his features change, show utter and total embarrassment. He's surrounded by a group of  
serving wenches who are quite aware of the fact that they're going to be sent back to the village, fired for  
neglecting their duties to hang over the young Williams. In Robbie's arms Sofia, obviously hungry,  
simply wails and flails her small limbs, a look of pure outrage on her features.

Ash just holds out his hands. "Gimmie your sister and go to bed."

*** 

"I would that ye'd have words with him, love." Sheila's settled into a rocking chair, nursing their  
youngest, a look of contentment upon her features. 

"Don't get excited. Boys will be boys," Ash says, wanting to avoid Another Major Talk with one of his  
children.

"I shall not have Robbie wenching his way across the border country," Sheila replies sharply. "'Twould  
be a terrible scandal, for him to sew a crop of bastards on serving wenches, frows and camp women."

Well, Ash hadn't thought of it that way before. He holds out a supplicating hand. "I'll talk with him,"  
he promises, trying to figure out what the hell he'll say. Memories of his own father provide no help at  
all - he could still conjure the man's voice after so many years: _Ash, a woman's like a pint of  
whisky..._

"The lad has inherited a fatal dose of thy charm, m'lord," Sheila insists. "I but hope he will keep his  
dignity until he finds his love."

Ash has a feeling their boy's lost his 'dignity' months ago, but it's not worth making Sheila even more  
upset. "I said I'll talk with him." He reaches out and strokes her arm, the top of his daughter's head -  
ghostly, gently touches. "Don't worry about it."

"Worry is a mother's largest occupation," she informs him. 

Worry is Sheila's largest occupation - he would tell her that, but the mood's not right for sarcasm. "You  
worried about Robbie before he was even born."

She smiles, the memory rising up to meet them. "Ye remember."

"It was my wedding night. Of course I do."

**** 

_"Do I have to be naked while you do this?"_

_"I fear so." Wiseman John somehow seemed less comfortable with the prospect of seeing Ash naked than  
Ash felt at his own nudity. _

_"The bridegroom is shy!" a voice called from the rabble gathered in their chamber._

_"Fi, he is the Promised One. He fears nothing!" another shouted._

_Ash glared back over his shoulder at the crowd of villagers and noblemen who had come to witness the  
bedding ceremony of the Lord Ashley J. Williams and his new-made Lady wife, Sheila. His expression  
proved enough to silence them - some even cowered back into the hallway. _

_"Come, Ash," Sheila called from the bed. She'd been stripped already and declared perfect by the  
Wiseman and the chruch's clerics. He was, Ash realized, holding the ceremony up. "Well, m'lord?" she  
called, her voice sweet and nearly lost in the rabble. "Shall ye nay make me a woman this eve?"_

_The crowd roared its approval of Sheila's ribald comment. Wiseman John, however, evidently had had  
enough of Ash's dallying. "Strip him," he ordered Sheila's handmaidens._

_"Hey, wait!" Ash drew an original conclusion from the ensuing minutes: being buried in a pile of groping  
woman could be a truly humiliating and actually frightening experience. In less than a minute the  
wedding outfit Sheila had sewn for him flopped, wrinkled, to the ground. _

_The part of him that remained a vaguely geeky engineering student filled to the brim with horrible pick-  
up lines wanted to crawl under the bed and hide, but the louder part - the new part - told him to face  
down his examiners with an expression of scorn. _

_The room filled with sound; the men laughed and made jokes about his lack of scars below the waist; the  
women tittered and looked at Sheila knowingly. Ash turned his head and caught sight of Sheila's blush -  
and he knew from hard-won experience that Sheila did not blush easily. Anger crackled up within him -  
why should they have to put up with more of this ritualistic idiocy? Wiseman John, fortunately, stood  
directly beside him - he didn't even have to shout to get his attention. "Get on with it, spinach chin!"_

_The Wise Man eyed him critically with a quick up and down glance. "I see no flaws upon the bodies of  
Ashley J. Williams nor Sheila Mary Kelly to break the bonds of their marriage." The church's clerics all  
nodded their agreement. Wiseman John pushed Ash toward the bed, and the younger man gratefully  
threw himself upon it, crawling beneath the sheets and pulling the blankets to his throat. _

_"For the good of England, young ones," John told them, and drew closed the filmy curtains surrounding  
their bed. That began their guests' exodus; soon only Henry the Red stood in the doorway, his squat and  
hairy shape distinct in the torchlight and swaying from an overabundance of alcohol._

_"GET THE FUCK OUT!" Ash bellowed, throwing a pillow at Henry's teetering form as hard as he could._

_It missed him entirely, causing Henry to laugh so loudly that Ash's ears rang. The pillow was pitched  
back toward the bed. "Enjoy yer stay in the bounds of Britain, lad!" shouted Henry as he left the room._

_"At least he was kind enough to close the door behind him," Sheila remarked._

_Ash rose from the bed, muttering a variety of threats under his breath as he barred the door, most of them  
involving his chainsaw and Henry's head. Once that task was completed and he'd exhausted his rage,  
Ash entered the bed once more, shut the curtain and turned over to face Sheila. _

_His bride lay beside him giggling._

_That made him glower, which made her giggling turn to full-blown laughter. She apologized as she  
crawled closer to him, resting her head upon his shoulder, her body still tremoring. Somehow, her fond  
laugher made him smile, and soon he joined her in her merriment._

_"I laugh not at thy discomfort, m'lord. 'Tis only thy face..." She lost herself in another burst of giggles._

_He rolled her onto her back, resting beside her on an elbow. "What's wrong with my face?" he wondered,  
his left hand stroking her cheek._

_"Ye look ready to set the world afire," she explained._

_"I'd like to after what I put up with today." But the words held no spite._

_Sheila chuckled. "And once ye begged for ceremony!"_

_"A ceremony, not a ton of ceremonies with speeches." He recalled the disgruntlement he'd felt the whole  
day as Wiseman John led them through the marriage rituals with the assistance of the castle's resident  
friar. The religious elders didn't get along on the best of days, and their struggle for control of the new  
Lord's marriage rites had driven the household staff to distraction. Ash and Sheila had been nearly  
oblivious to the conflict until the wedding itself, at what point the contradictory directions had been  
enervating and confusing for all parties involved. Those archaic words and bizarre traditions had left Ash  
somewhat disconcerted and consistently cranky - but at least, finally, a married man. His hand slipped  
across her face, sliding through her hair - crumbs from the bridal cake they'd broken over her head at the  
noon meal lingered and sprinkled out onto the pillow as his fingers made their way to the edge of her  
tresses. "I wanted to drag you up here all damn day..."_

_"Ye possess no patience, m'lord." She moved toward his touch, smiling._

_"Call me Ash, baby - you're my wife..." He trailed off when he realized that. His wife. The woman  
lying beneath him was his wife, and he'd known her for less than a month._

_"Ash..." she smiled, a silky one that made his heart thump sharply. "Thy reward awaits, Ash..."_

_"You're not a reward. You're my wife..." he had to repeat that fact out loud to better grasp ahold of it._

_Her hands found his back, stroked their way up to the nape of his neck. "Art I worth thy struggle,  
Ashley?"_

_"I didn't say you could call me Ashley." He didn't mind, and his lazy tone reflected that._

_"Am I?"_

_He kissed her cheek. "Every minute, sugar."_

_She kissed his cheek in return. "The ceremonies," she said suddenly, "have been simplified over time.  
Were it a hundred years past our sheets would be flying from the battlements in the morn." The disgust  
he felt at the idea must have registered in his expression. She patted his cheek comfortingly. "Hath not  
been a custom for years before my birth, Ashley."_

_"This country's so fucked up," he complained, not bothering to correct her about the name thing._

_"A hundred years hence, ye'd be unlocking my chastity belt," she remarked fondly. "My grandmother  
FitzHugh wore hers for a score while my grandfather joined the Crusades."_

_"You come from patient stock, baby." He needed more patience in his life, that went without saying._

_"I do..." She wondered, suddenly, "Britain is home, is it not, m'lord?"_

_"It is," Ash agreed. Home, he understood finally, was where he lay now. It was in the great room, and  
the fields of Kandar, and beside this woman who never cowered when he shouted. _

_They lay together, still for just for a minute, listening to the sudden quiet outside their door._

_"They would have expected me chaste," she told him abruptly. "I cannot imagine how we might have  
fooled them."_

_Ash confessed he had no idea how they might have. "Everyone knows about us, baby."_

_Sheila had likely been aware of the gossip surrounding them - hopefully none had discovered the secret  
passage that led from his temporary bachelor's dwelling to her chamber. It didn't matter to him, but to  
Sheila it was a Huge Deal._

_Wide-eyed, she asked, "Have they asked thee of our history? I pray they do not. Should we conceive of  
this night they shall have cause to question thy heir's legitimacy."_

_Ash's hands tightened against her unresisting and velvety skin, the idea of a baby terrifying but inspiring  
to him. "Why?"_

_"Tis important that ye be able to attest that ye're the only man I hath...given sugar to," she explained.  
"We lack thy science, milord. Otherwise, I might greengown a squire in the refuse pile and press the  
result of such a coupling upon thee."_

_Ash muttered low in his throat about 'typical screwhead logic' and she tushed him, rubbing her face  
against the scar on his right shoulder. _

_Kissing that scar left over from his battle with his not-so-lamented departed evil twin, she busied herself  
tracing the pattern of old cuts upon Ash's face. She knew where they all were, even the ones that had  
healed and left nothing but a faint pink mark behind. "When I touch thee," she whispered. "I remember  
the first time I set sight upon thy form in the bailey. Tis as ye said - I wanted to kill thee."_

_"Did you wanna kiss me?" he knew the answer._

_"After ye touched me in the armory. Afore, I simply wanted to make amends. And after that..." her lips  
curved as he kissed a sensitive point that connected her right shoulder to her neck._

_"Mmm?" His five-o-clock shadow tickled against her collarbone as he kissed her._

_Breathlessly, she said, "I prayed that I might have a son of that night. A strong lad with your face."_

_Bittersweet feelings coursed through him. "It didn't happen."_

_"Aye. But I willnay fail ye or myself again, love."_

_He spent a minute or more kissing her earlobes, her brow, each closed eyelid. She sounded helpless, in  
need of a bit of comfort, and if his kisses could make her happy then he would spend the whole night  
pressing his lips against hers. Catching her serious expression, he said, "you could never make me  
unhappy. Unless you tried to kill me again..."_

_"I will not. And I know." Another kiss, another touch. She took his face between her palms. "I will,  
Ashley," she said._

_"Huh?" She was going to try to kill him again?_

_"I will give ye a son made of this night."_

_The words made him smile. "I won't hold you to that." It was a risk to make himself that vulnerable, but  
Ash felt drawn irresistibly to the thought - he could already picture a son in his mind's eye - one with her  
dark eyes and her smile. If it didn't happen, it wouldn't be entirely her fault. _

_"Ye may, for I shall," she explained. "My mother was a reliable breeder and I will like be the same - she  
delivered a babe every other Michaelmas for ten years...they all died, but for Robert and I..." And now  
Robert was dead. That remained unspoken but hovered between them._

_The idea of her dying in childbirth frightened the hell out of Ash. He hushed her words with his lips.  
"Let's talk about it later. Right now..." he rolled his weight firmly over her body. "I'll take a little sugar  
instead."_

_She tucked her hands into his hair. "Aye...." Thoughtfully, she wondered, "Will ye still bring me sugar,  
Ash, when I am old?"_

_"Every day," he vowed solemnly. She kissed his throat and he groaned. "Twice on Saturdays."_

_"This I shall hold ye to."_

_"That ye may hold me to," he copied her perfectly, bending in for a kiss. All of the playfulness in his  
expression melted away when they parted again._

_Her hands found his face once more. "Will ye love me, Ashley, in a thousand moons?" she wondered._

_Her words - delivered in a soft voice - wiped the smirk from his face. Stripped of his wit, of everything  
but his love for this woman, he could not think of the right words. _

_So he nodded. "Yeah, baby, I'll love you that long." He kissed her lips, and she pulled away._

_"I shallnae ask thee to give me forever."_

_The words lay heavily against the chilled air. But he knew how he felt, and what to say for once. He  
spoke them with his left hand resting against her cheek. "I'll love you til I die, Sheila." _

_Knowing he'd love her even after that, Ash lost himself in a kiss, the open warmth of her body, the beauty  
of her passion..._

*** 

"...And ye're not listening to me." Ash's vision clears, and he meets the amused smile of his wife.  
"Where did ye go?"

"Just remembering how well you deliver." There's a multiple entandre, for nine months after that night  
to the day she had given birth to Robbie. 

She blushes and, somehow, reads his mind. "And ye broke thy word."

"Baby, I'm not Superman," Ash responds. As with all married couples, life has developed a way of  
getting between the two of them - the occasional illness or emergency forcing a sepparation, a long trip  
intervening and making them grumpy and tired. 

"Twas a promise for the young," she replies. "And we are young no longer, Ashley."

"Stop reminding me," he growls. 

A tiny smile betrays Sheila's words as a tease. She glances down at Sofia, who eats with a lust that marks  
her linage well. "She has yet to drink her fill. Perhaps ye should go to Judith now?"

"She should be asleep."

"She likely is not." Sheila grins. "Ye cannot avoid this forever, love."

Ash grumbles, walking out of the nursery. "Don't blame me if I screw up."

"This I never do, Ash."

He glares and pouts, an affectation that doesn't work at her in the slightest. Her laughter follows him all  
the way down the hall, to a girl who will, hopefully, take him more seriously.

*** 

Three minutes later - having gone down to the kitchen to grab a slice of cake and two forks - Ash finds  
his way to Judith's room. A soft knock brings no response, and so the door is shoved open. 

She lies in the semidarkness of her room, transformed into a sniffling lump hogging comforters upon the  
center of her bed. Suddenly Ash's task becomes a thousand times harder. Judith is so much like her  
mother that he understand what the tears signify - a wound too deep to be dealt with otherwise. So his  
tread is silent against the stone as he steps over a sleeping Isobail and approaches the bed, his touch very  
careful on his daughter's shoulder.

Judith stiffens under his hand. "Don't hit me. I've got cake," Ash informs her. A little, shuddery sigh  
escapes Judith's lungs as she turns to face him, her eyes rimmed with red circles, the evidence of her  
crying jag marring her face. Ash brushes a dark flood of hair away from her eyes and pats her cheek  
with as much tenderness as he can muster. "Want me to stay?" he asks.

She nods her agreement, sitting up with her eyes squarely resting on the cake. "Ye're willing to speak to  
me?" 

Ash settles down at the edge of the bed, placing the cake in the space between them. "Yeah. You're my  
kid, and I've done dumber things in front of bigger groups of people." Taking a fork to the cake, he splits  
it raggedly in half.

A soft laugh breaks through her misery, but soon her features grow serious. "Mother shalt not forgive me  
for ruining the party."

"Hal spilled his guts," Ash tells her. "Everything's fine. Your mom told me to tell you she's sorry for  
jumping to conclusions." 

Judith turns scarlet, her pale skin quite easily picking up color. "The varlet! Blames me for our trouble,  
then turns heel and...oh, I DETEST HIM!" 

Ash is taken aback by his daughter's vehemence. Either she truly hates the poor slob or she actually loves  
him - which version of the truth he prefers Ash cannot decide. "He got what he deserved, sweetheart.  
You broke his nose." He smirks. "Couldn't've done it better if I did it myself."

Judith chuckles at the suggestion. "I..." she turns silent, then continues, "he is a braggart and a rogue."

The description is uncomfortably familiar to Ash. "And he likes teasing you."

"Aye." She picks up a fork and spears a tiny morsel of cake onto the tines. She pauses, considering her  
words. "He tried to kiss me this eve."

Ash growls at the boy's impertinence. "Next time aim a little lower and break his jaw - it'll save me the  
trouble."

Judith's ceased nibbling at her cake. "I confess I do admire his zest..." Ash doesn't even bother to hide  
his horror, and she concludes softly, "I simply wish he would decide if he dislikes me or..."

Ash feels an uncomfortable echo of the past. "You wanna know if he wants to kill or kiss you."

"Mm? I suppose..." Judith gives him one of those magnificently annoying I'm-sixteen-and-I-know-  
everything looks. "Dinna compare us to ye and mother."

Ash enjoyed a forkful of cake, deliberately chewing it over while Judith anxiously awaited his reaction.  
"Me and your mom started out with a flying rock. Didn't get easier from there."

"Aye." He's told her a sanitized version of the story many times. She yawns, then reclines against the  
bed. "Have ye time tonight, father? Can ye tell it once more?"

It's a little late for the full treatment. She looks up at him with those deep brown Sheila eyes and knows  
he won't be able to say no. "Care if I start with the middle?"

"If it pleases thee."

Ash pulls his feet up onto the bed, tucking them beneath each other Indian-style - experience has taught  
him that it's better to be very comfortable while telling an ass-numbingly long story. He takes the  
abandoned cake and starts to eat both pieces as he follows his daughter's request...

*** 

_The plan - which had made perfect sense when he'd cooked it up back at the castle - had been to ride  
outside of the kingdom's bounds, far enough from the surrounding village to avoid attracting attention or  
going too near the copse of trees leading to the keep's ancient graveyard. There were mountains further  
up the river, with caves he could safely hide in._

_It was a great plan. Flawless, in Ash's opinion._

_Only he hadn't counted on getting hungry about an hour's ride from his destination. First, he ignored his  
stomach's gurgling with gritty determination; then he tried to think of unpleasant moments to wash his  
hunger away. But it was an impossible to put off the situation - Ash needed to eat to keep his strength up  
on the off chance he might encounter another undead beastie. He couldn't possibly cause any further  
irreparable damage to the past just by stopping off for a little dinner..._

_The nearest stop, a hamlet in the foothills a three hour ride away from Kandar named Brookheath, had a  
rudimentary inn at the center square named the Parrot's Wing. He was greeted by a short gray-haired  
woman with blue eyes, wide hips and a huge smile._

_"Could ye be the Chosen One?" She wondered. It turned out that his reputation had preceded him thanks  
to the region's bards and minstrels. The innkeeper noisily offered to treat him to a full meal and an  
endless round of beer, which Ash simply accepted without question as his due for Saving The Damn  
Country._

_"It shall be ready in a moment, lamby," she said sweetly, as she ushered him to a stool at the edge of the  
taproom. After seating Ash, she hollered in the direction of the back room where meals were obviously  
cooked. "DAVEY, POUR A BOWL AND CUT THE BREAD. THE CHOSEN ONE IS AMONG US."_

_"CHOSEN FOR WHAT?" A creaky voice responded._

_"BE YE DEAF? THE ONE THE BALLADS SPEAK OF."_

_"OH. DINNA BE BORING HIM WITH YOUR STORIES, MAGS."_

_She smiled benignly at Ash, then glared at the group of loose-limbed drunks draped across tables and over  
chairs scattered about the tap room, snoring in their drunken stupors. "LOOK ALIVE! The chosen one is  
among us!" she bellowed, to no real result. Ash basked in the attention but disliked the overweening  
praise - he would endure more if they would fill his belly._

_The meal arrived speedily, and Ash was on his second bowl before he remembered why he was so  
hungry. He hadn't eaten a scrap of food in the twenty-four hour span of Sheila's kidnapping._

_He paused, perfectly still, as he realized that all of his rationale about stay behind to defend the book had  
been blown to hell in less than a minute. It wasn't about growing up, facing up to his own  
responsibilities, cleaning up the mess he'd made. It was Sheila._

_He'd done it all for her._

_**Then why the hell am I leaving?** Ash had comfortably rationalized that one to himself - it was  
about protecting her from the chaos that surrounded him. She would be safer without him._

_**Why's she safer without me? They already have deadites here. She'd be safer if I stayed - I could  
protect her...** Memories of her pasty faced undead twin flashed through his mind as he recalled what  
a lousy job he'd done of keeping her safe. _

_**Damn. Shoulda taught her how to shoot before I left.** Then he remembered how well she'd  
wielded that staff against him and grinned. **Should've left her the gun. I can always get another.**_

_Ash realized suddenly that he was smiling for absolutely no reason, and Mags watched him imperiously  
from behind the bar. He gulped more stew, more ale, nibbled more bread, and suddenly remembered  
something Sheila had told him about his table manners being 'excellent for a heathen.' The memory  
made him grin._

_Damn, he missed her._

_**Don't think about it, cowboy,** he told himself, **you've got to go back home. They need you  
there.**_

_Who, exactly, needed him escaped Ash's recall. "Home" conjured up memories of the dingy apartment  
he'd shared with Scotty and its crud-covered floor, the mind-numbing job he'd taken to get closer to  
Linda, his stuffy asshole of a professor at Michigan State. The things that had made life tolerable had  
been taken from him - his sister, his girl, his best friend. His mother had died when he was three, his  
imprisoned father a lost cause at eighteen. If he went back, he'd have to get a smaller and even dingier  
apartment, quit school and take more hours at the S-Mart to supplement Scotty's missing half of the rent.  
If he didn't end up sharing a cell with his father after becoming the prime suspect in eight rather gristly  
murders._

_No, he'd made his choice, and he had to stand by it and not pussy out. She had taught him that. Given  
him the courage to be a man instead of a baby. Put faith in him when it hadn't yet been earned. _

_No one else had done that for him._

_No one else could put him in his place with a look and a few chosen words, either._

_Or turn him into a normal human being with a kiss._

_Or had the power to make him smile._

_His heart made a break for his throat as he suddenly understood why he couldn't wipe Sheila out of his  
mind, why he wanted to go back to her, why his neat little getaway plan had disintegrated, why he still  
wore the clothing she'd made him. "Oh no," Ash mumbled to himself, sinking down in his seat, hiding  
his face in his hands. "No, no, no."_

_"What is it, lamby?" Mags looked down at the stew, at Ash's face, then turned and bellowed, "G'DAMN  
IT, SHAUN! I SAID SWAN STEW, NOT PORPISE!"_

***

"...And that's how I figured out I was in love with your mother," Ash concludes.

Judith giggles. She's heard the story a million times now but it never fails to amuse her. "To think, if  
ye'd not heeded thy stomach, I wouldnae be here."

Ash frowns. "I would've figured it out..." he considers the situation and says confidently. "I would  
have. I'm sure." His eyes betray his own confusion on the matter. It's impossible for him to conjure up  
the other life he would have lived. At nearly-forty, he had the privilege of looking back at himself and  
marveling at the choices he had been forced to make at such a young age. 

"Ye stopped before the best part," Judith protests. 

Ash returns to the present place and time with a groan. "You would think what happened next was the  
best part..."

*** 

_Ash occupied himself during the three-hour ride back to Kandar by practicing what he would say to  
Sheila. The woman had a temper and would likely be Really Pissed Off at his reneging on the choice  
he'd made._

_What would soften the blow? Jewelry would have been nice, but in the thirteenth century it took a couple  
of hours or more to make. Candy was non-existent beyond marzipan, frangipane and sugared figs. _

_Ahh, flowers; refuge of clueless boyfriends everywhere. Ash made sure to position his stallion so that its  
frame blocked the road, so that no one could pay witness to the sight of the Promised One picking heather  
for his beloved._

_Naturally, the people of Kandar welcomed him with open arms and celebratory rabble. He fought his  
way through the crowd to the castle keep, which he entered. Somehow, he kept the heather intact as he  
climbed to Sheila's room, ignoring the gasps of surprise and the gaping stares of various servants, then  
the protest risen by the ladies in waiting occupying Sheila's antechamber. Ash entered the chamber  
proper without warning, silently pushed away the maid standing guard there and shoving her into the  
antechamber before closing the door behind him._

_The sound of it shutting made her look up, and then she saw him. Sheila had been combing her hair out  
before a mirror with an ivory comb, which hit the floor and cracked in half as she turned upon her stool to  
meet him. She jerked herself into a standing position, staring at him with an expression that combined  
confusion and anger._

_Ash found himself frozen in space, staring at her beauty like a love-stricken child. She wore a gown he'd  
never seen her in before - dark blue with golden embroidery about the collar - and her hair hung in long  
unbound curls about her face, frizzy like a lion's mane...._

*** 

"Ye still remember what she looked like that eve," Judith interrupts.

"Yeah..." Ash smiles. He's not a detail-orientated man, but he does.

***  
 _... Ash finally closed the distance between them and thrust the bouquet of heather toward her. "I'm  
bac-"_

_What he had planned on saying he would never be able to recall, as Sheila easily silenced him by  
slamming her fist into his midsection. As he doubled over and tried to regain his breath, she began to  
bellow. _

_"Ye bastard! Ye whoreson! Ye dare to return, after departing without a backward glance?" Ash held up  
an index finger as he sucked wind. "Have ye nothing to say? Ye were filled with honeyed words two  
days past - 'oh, baby, you're so beautiful,'" she quoted, deepening her voice into a ridiculous tone as she  
tried to approximate the bass of Ash's. "'I could talk to you all day, Sheila.' 'Gimmie more sugar,  
Sheila!" Ash shrank under her harsh examination. "And after all we shared, ye said ye belong with them,  
that ye must leave. Like a fool, I allowed thee to depart - 'tis his destiny, I told myself, 'tisn't my place  
to question the methods of the Promised One..." she glared at him. "Less than a day passed, and ye've  
returned to upset my resolve. Have ye no words for my soul? Nothing to soothe my frayed sense of  
peace?"_

_Ash rubbed his left hand over the bruise he would undoubtedly sport the following morning. Bending  
over her also gave him a nice view of her cleavage. "Damn, you know how to fill out a dress..." She  
reared back, ready to punch him again, but a quicker Ash grabbed her by both wrists. "Calm down and  
listen." Her lips compressed into a hard line, her eyes spitting fire but her lips going quiet. "I tried to go  
back but I couldn't..."_

_"...La, did ye find another poor wench to seduce?"_

_His hands loosened about her wrists. "I couldn't stop thinking about you."_

_Sheila's eyes softened - just slightly, for barely a second. She tried to yank herself out of his grip. "Had  
ye a care for me, ye would not have left me at all."_

_His own expression softened slightly at her tone. "I was trying to protect you from..."_

_She interrupted, "aye, and ye did so well at this afore..."_

_"Hey, I'm not perfect," he growled._

_Her completely incredulous expression wasn't doing Ash any favors. "La, Sir. The deaf and the blind  
recognize this." His jaw tightened as he fought an internal and private struggle. Pityingly, her thumbs  
caressed his wrists. "I listen."_

_Abruptly, he crushed her against his chest. "I left because I can't take watching you die again," he  
admitted. _

_Silence filled the room, and Ash could feel her body grow pliant in his embrace. "Foolish boy. They  
shall not have me."_

_"They did it before; they'll take you again." He pushed her back, to better see her eyes. "I know how  
they operate, baby. Those Kandarian bastards won't stop 'til they drag me back to hell with them."_

_It's her response - delivered fearlessly - that galvanized his choice. "La, then they shall be forced to  
contend with me, for I shall not forgive them that sin." She squeezed his upper arm. "Worry not for me.  
I am a salamander, Ash - ye should understand well that the fire cannot hurt me."_

_Ash raised his left hand, rested it over her cheek, then slipped it down to lift her chin. "You don't  
understand. You came back, and it wasn't a trick. That's never happened before."_

_She smiled. "As I said, milord, art salamander."_

_Abruptly, he asked, "d'you guys have a priest hanging around?"_

_"We share a friar with Glenkirk Keep," her brows knit together. "Ye've need to be shrived?"_

_"No, baby. I'm marrying you tomorrow."_

_She promptly erupted. "Ye'll marry me without a decent courtship? With no tokens exchanged?"_

_"Yep." Before she could rage at him anew, he asked, "will you come back with me if I marry you?"_

_Sheila's lips curled into a mocking parody of a smile. "So that ye might abandon me in America?"_

_"I'm not going to leave you again," he said with force, pulling her closer._

_"Would that I possessed the will to believe in you." She shook her head. "Even my faith has its limits,  
and ye've tried it sore this day."_

_She had a point. The hopelessness in her eyes forced him over the ledge, and Ash jumped into the fire  
unhesitatingly. "Then I'll stay here."_

_Sheila paused at his offer, clearly surprised. "Thy place..."_

_He held her harder - she gasped and he loosened his grip. She looked up at him, wonder in her  
expression, and he felt himself smile. "My place is with you."_

_The line of her lips softened. Then, by some undeserved miracle, she smiled. "I would hear the word  
now, milord."_

_He thought for a moment, lips pursed. "Hmm...the word..." She gasped aloud her offense. "I...l...lick?  
Lip? Lace? It's definitely an 'l' word..."_

_Her fist banged against his chest. "E'n a primate would remember, milord."_

_"Yeah, a primate. You're lucky this monkey's in love with you." Ash paused, his brows quirked, barely  
resisting laughter. The tension broke, and Sheila giggled, holding him hard with her small arms._

_Fists abruptly hammered against the door, erasing their brief moment of peace. "Sheila! Lady Sheila!  
Let me in!"_

_Sheila gasped and pried herself out of Ash's arms. "Helga!" she scurried to the door and unbarred it.  
"Oh, merry met, Helga!"_

_Ash watched as Sheila was wrapped in the embrace of a very short, stocky woman wearing a snood and a  
peasant garb. "Wee Sheila, tiny darling!" she cooed. "Ach, what a beautiful young woman ye've  
become!"_

_"Uh....hi?" Ash offered from across the room. This kick started Sheila's manners._

_"Ash, Helga is my former nursemaid. She hath returned from a pilgrimage to Tuscany." Helga stared up  
at Ash, strained amusement staining her cheeks. "Helga, Ash is my betrothed."_

_"Betrothed!" The older woman breaks into a saucy grin. "Ye've caught a fine fish, lovey!"_

_"Fresh from saving the country!" Sheila said with great pride._

_"Please," Ash retorted dryly, "don't bow."_

_Helga's pockmarked features transformed under a scowl. "I shall not be bowing to thee, sir. A lady's  
chamber is not to be entered by her betrothed!" She sent Sheila a chastening look before leaping up and  
grabbing Ash by the ear. "Ye're to come with me; we shall find suitable quarters for thee..." she began  
to pull Ash toward the door. "FAR from the ladies' apartments. No ding-ding without the wedding  
ring!"_

_Dragged away by Helga's immovable force, Ash managed to turn toward Sheila before they were  
separated. **I love you,** he mouthed. _

_She pressed a palm to her breast, telling him without words that he had her heart now._

*** 

"We got married a month later. One long month later." Judith dabs the corner of her eye, and her father  
pokes her. "This story never makes you cry. What's wrong?"

Judith shrugs. "Perhaps 'tis the weather." In a low voice, she admits, "I miss Helga."

His smile wavers. "I know..."

*** 

_"Och, yer father is daft," Helga remarked, leaning heavily upon her cane as the small group made  
their way up the woodland path. "'Tis a beautiful copse."_

_Ten-year-old Judith skipped beside her, swinging a small picnic basket. To spend time alone with any of  
her family is a rare treat since the new baby came to be. "May we pick berries after the meal?"_

_"I dinna see why not," Helga said._

_They found and used a large, heavy rock as a table. She can still remember the warmth of the rock under  
her legs._

_And the flavor of turkey legs and the scent of ginger beer still make her ill._

_She hadn't noticed the rush of the air, the hiss of the beast, but Helga did. She pushed Judith out of its  
path, off of the rock. Judith remembers the impact against her head, the ground against her back, the blue  
sky over her head._

_Helga - no longer Helga - her ghoulish face white, a sickening parody of the woman who had helped  
raise her... _

_"Such a pretty little girl! With a brand-new soul! Be a lamb and give it to nanny Helga..." The scream  
rang out, through the forest, bouncing off of the trees, her own helplessness a sickening feeling clenching  
her stomach muscles tight. Judith scooted backward, under a pocket of space formed between the rock  
and the ground - her father's instruction in such matters being a simplistic 'stay low and out of sight.  
And always hide behind something heavy.' She heard the monster bellowing, "JUDITH! YE'RE  
BEING A VERY NAUGHTY GIRRRLLL..."_

_The sound of a chainsaw revving started her tears, for she knew what would happen. She prays for her  
nanny's soul, eyes closed against the battle._

_"Not my kids, you bastards!" she heard her father saying. "Not my kids!"_

_Then nothing but silence._

_"Jude? It's okay - it's over...come out..." She emerged, running blindly to her father, but he pushed her  
held her at arm's length. The chainsaw was gone, but it sat on the rock, glistening with blood. "Did she  
bite you? Did she touch you anywhere, honey?" Judith could only shake her head, and he seized her by  
the arms and gave her a hard shake. She was petrified - he was covered head-to-toe in her nanny's blood,  
and he looked ready to kill again. "I told you not to go near the woods! I TOLD YOU NEVER TO GO  
NEAR THE WOODS!" his voice took on an edgy hysteria that made Judith's skin crawl. She caught  
sight of something twitching beside the rock, behind him - pale flesh, red blood, muscles torn and  
glistening in the once-beautiful sunlight. "Don't look!" he demanded, but she had seen everything._

_Violently, she turned on him, slamming her small fists into his chest, tearing at his hair. "Why did ye kill  
her? Why?!"_

_"I had to, sweetheart," he said, his voice low, miserable. Then he crushed her in his arms._

_Judith was astonished into silence. It was the first time she'd ever seen her father cry._

***

Ash knows exactly where Judith's mind has wandered off to - automatically, he reaches out and gently  
squeezes her hands. Starting out of the memory, she shivers, looks away from him and wipes her eyes. "I  
believe the ceiling leaks again."

"Leaky ceiling," Ash nods, wiping his own eyes. "Gotta have someone look at it."

They both recover, gradually, from their emotions. A smile lit her face. "Hal lied."

Ash begins to sweat. "Yep..."

Judith is, unfortunately, a sharp-eyed girl. "Why doth thy eyes dart about, father?"

"My eyes aren't doing anything..." Her I Know Everything Daddy look pierces through him. "Fine.  
You think you're old enough for the truth?"

Her teeth sink into her lower lip. "Aye."

Ash takes another bite of cake to fortify himself for the rest of the story...

*** 

_"Lemme get this straight," Ash said, as he paced the length of the great room, "you can't make me  
king, and the real king's coming here to see me."_

_Arthur looked up from his seat by the fireplace, the sword he'd been polishing for the past five minutes  
glimmering. "If ye had the care to remember, ye were never promised such a thing by me."_

_Ash glowered at him, but Arthur didn't back down. What he'd said was true - Arthur himself had never  
promised Ash the kingship. The Wiseman, however, had. _

_Wiseman John threw up his hands when Ash glared at him. "Ye did unite the Scots and the Brits," he  
pointed out. "I thought ye might have the mettle to dispatch Edward."_

_Ash groaned, sinking down in his seat and grumbling his disgust in primate politics._

_"Tush," Sheila said from her position before the fire, "The politics of the nation art not my husband's  
affair. 'Tis enough for we two, keeping the castle and governing the people within." She lowered her  
sewing to her lap, "soon to increase by one," she said as she patted her rounded stomach. Her eyes met  
Ash's and they shared a knowing smile in tribute to her promptness._

_"Tis unseemly, that ye sit at his right hand and lead the people," Arthur complained._

_Ash glared back at Arthur. "I need her," he said, and crossed the room to put an arm around Sheila.  
Frankly, part of him was relieved that he couldn't be named king; he had no idea how to run a house or  
lead the planting of fields, and his rulings in the court were often harsh and reactionary. The whole  
"conquering kingdoms and beheading the unjust" part would have been easy for him, but he undoubtedly  
would have failed at the day-to-day problem of diplomacy. And he never could have done it alone, for he  
needed Sheila's expertise and cooler demeanor to even out his volatility for Kandar's small problems.  
"Why do you give a shit anyway, Arty? Don't you have a sister to knock up?" Sheila's stricken  
expression at his crudeness melted away at his touch._

_His joke sailed over Arthur's head. "If e'd forgotten, these art my lands, and shall remain so afore  
Edward changes the deeds. Should he change the deeds," Arthur added with some intensity._

_Sheila's left hand rose, and her fingers encircled his wrist. "I would go wherever my husband goeth," she  
told all of them. "I shall not be part from him again."_

_"You heard the lady," Ash said._

_"Ye'll go if Edward decides in my favor?" Arthur wondered, obviously impressed with Ash's  
selflessness. _

_Ash shrugged. "I go where she goes." A second later, a trumpet fanfare blasted from the battlement.  
"Stay here," he told his wife._

_But Sheila, on her feet, grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the stone archway. "Tis likely  
Edward," she informed him. Aware of Arthur and the Wiseman behind them, she whispered, "fret not.  
Edward is a good man, but short tempered. Ye should get on well, if ye'll do nonce to anger him,  
Ashley." This was a demand._

_Ash growled. "I'll be good..." he deliberately gave her a sardonic smirk. She knew well how very good  
he could be. Sheila met his heated eyes and her lips tipped into a smile; only the sound of Arthur  
harrumphing behind them about the foolishness of newlyweds broke the spell and caused her to blush._

_In the courtyard, stable boys busied themselves helping the cortege of carriages and men at arms  
dismount. The party was small for a royal processional, but royal it was - encrusted in gold, dripping  
with gems of countless value, the Plantagenet coat of arms gleaming from the sides of the carriage, the  
shields of the men. Ash's jaw dropped at the richness before him - the actual pageantry impressing him  
more than the shiny trappings. It was a living fairytale._

_The carriage's door swung open, and Sheila dragged Ash down into a bow. The man and woman  
emerging from inside proceeded toward them, a shower of rose petals making a pathway to the keep's  
bailey. _

_"Well met, my king," Sheila said, her head kept low - the sound of her calling someone else her king  
made Ash's blood leap jealously. _

_"Rise, cousin," the king's voice was deep, and Sheila dragged Ash to his feet. He finally dared to raise  
his head and meet the face of the man watching them. The king was red-haired and long-boned, with  
tanned skin and rosy cheeks and Sheila-dark eyes. He was, Ash decided, a little older than Henry - mid-  
sixties, maybe. The king stared into Ash's face, clearly testing him out - Ash glared back. The king  
glowered in return. "So," he boomed, "this is the Chosen One." He brought his hand down upon Ash's  
left shoulder, the sudden sharp pressure nearly sending him to his knees. "And the man who hath stolen  
the heart of my wee cousin." He examined Ash's face, and his stiff mask cracked as he smiled at Sheila.  
"Ahh, 'tis no great shock. Ye'd always favored warriors over courtiers," he said to Sheila._

_"Nay believe that, Edward. My husband is quite the surprise." Sheila's hand encircled his left wrist,  
which earned her a squeeze of his hand._

_"Come!" the king boomed, laughter in his voice. "Let us retire! I trust a room has been prepared..."_

_"Aye, and a fine meal." Sheila hadn't released Ash's hand, and she pulled him again in the direction of  
the great room. He put up with it, allowed her to take control for once._

_Edward laughed again. "Art ever the same, Sheila," Edward noted. "Always the lead horse, pulling a full  
team forward."_

_Ash bristled at the description, but wisely kept his mouth shut as they came to the high table for dinner._

_***_

_"Our king is correct," Queen Marguerite said as the supper trenchers were removed. Her French accent  
creamy and soothing as she said, "I knew it would take a special man to breach Sheila's reserve." She  
eyed her contemporary's stomach. "I see it is not the only thing that has been breached..."_

_Ash choked on the cherry tart he'd been massacring._

_Sheila smiled as she whacked him hard upon the back. "We must speak of baby names, my queen. 'Tis  
my first child, and I hath no mother to assist me in such a matter."_

_"Ah, ye have Helga." The queen patted her own rounded midsection, perhaps thinking of her own  
faraway mother._

_"Helga is a dear courtier, but lacks the wisdom of a Queen." She gave her husband a saccharine smile as  
his expression showed utter disbelief at her ingratiation. _

_"Ye're a lucky man, Promised One," Marguerite said, lifting her cup of wine. "Never has there been a  
woman in my court as high-spirited as Sheila."_

_The king cut in, "ye're aware, Williams, that ye married my cousin without my leave?" Ash maintained a  
stony expression as visions of his head impaled on a spike danced through his vaguely-panicked mind. _

_Sheila prodded Ash with her elbow. "Yeah," he blurted out. He shook his head to clear out the anxiety.  
"I couldn't wait...my king?" he glanced at Sheila to double-check his form of address. _

_"She is my ward, ye know." Edward grinned. "Tho I did cede her interests to Arthur when she arrived in  
Kandar." He said to Sheila, "Ye do favor haste, wee one - I sense it is something ye have in common  
with thy lord..." He turned to Ash. "Perhaps ye should tell us thy story, as I have only heard it from the  
mouths of bards."_

_With an encouraging smile from Sheila, Ash embarked on the story, leaving out the nasty details of her  
possession and their private physical encounters. When he concluded, he looked to Edward, testing his  
credulity._

_The man growled. "Ye consorted with the Scots?"_

_Arthur, to Ash's surprise, jumped into the fray. "Aye. And I allowed it to happen, my liege."_

_"How did this come to be?" Edward snarled._

_"My king..." said Marguerite warningly._

_"Twas a hopeless situation. We needed the Stewarts to battle the army of the undead. Surely ye'd agree  
that sixty men are no match for thousands of skeletons waving broadsword." He added, "'Tis still an  
English holding, my liege."_

_Edward chewed this over. Sheila reached for Marguerite's hand and stood. "Would ye come away with  
me, Marguerite? We may sew for the babes to come and converse."_

_"Aye, Lady Sheila. Let us away." The two women departed for the great room, leaving the small party  
of men to glare at each other._

_"Ye two are dismissed," Edward declared, finally, to Arthur and Ash. "I shall consider the matter briefly  
and render my opinion upon your mutual disloyalty to the crown."_

_"Aye, your grace," Arthur said, white-faced._

_"DISLOYALTY?" Ash snapped. "I almost died protecting this damn place!"_

_"Ye did act in the best interest of the land - but ye also acted strongly in the interest of yourself. I must  
divine whether or not thy interest in Sheila is mercenary. If it be mercenary, the marriage will not stand."_

_"Come," Arthur said, yanking on Ash's right arm. "We will take our ale to the fireside and pray for our  
king's forgiveness."_

_"You will leave me be, Williams," responded the king, "or ye'll dance at the tip of my sword."_

_Ash's mind flooded with violent thoughts. He could kill the bastard and be done with it...What that  
would do to the natural course of historical events, he had no clue, nor did he care._

_"Love?" Sheila appeared in the doorway. "Dinna tarry, Ashley."_

_Only his love for Sheila forced Ash to agree to the king's demand. He sat by his own fire, brooding,  
listening to the women converse in French. Sometime in the course of the conversation, the language  
changed to Latin, and he sat in dizzied amazement, unable to produce a coherent thought in English._

_"Our tender bits will likely be swinging from the tower of London come the sunrise," Arthur muttered by  
his side. "Damn you for bewitching me into this madness..."_

_"Think you're so fuckin' smart when you didn't have a better idea."_

_"Hath you a plan?"_

_"No! And I'm fuckin' sick of pulling your ass out of the fire..." Actually, Ash was dedicated to pulling  
his own ass out of the fire, Arthur's ass just happened to consistently hang over the flame beside his._

_Arthur abruptly stood, sloshing ale over the floor. "My liege..." he said, as Edward entered the room._

_Edward settled on a stool between the two men. "Arthur, off your knees." He took a draught from his  
mug of ale. "I have come to a decision..." He made them both wait as he studied the chatting women.  
Sheila's eyes darted to Ash, just once, before she and Marguerite began conversing in Italian._

_"They are perfect, are they not? Roses of Europe," said Edward._

_"Aye, my liege," Arthur said. Ash simply glared at Edward for admiring Sheila's alleged perfection._

_"Accomplished, beautiful, iron-willed women." He clapped Ash on the shoulder. "I believe you might  
just be man enough for her, Williams."_

_Air whooshed out of Ash's lungs. "So you'll okay the marriage?"_

_"I must warn you that she was betrothed to a knight from Gascony," Edward explained. "He deserted  
rank amidst the last campaign to the West March. In light of his disappearance, I decree the match  
invalidated - I shall have your marriage contract approved, and knight thee in the morning, afore  
witnesses. Ye should be properly elevated for thy bravery, Scottish favoritism or not; an earldom,  
perhaps. 'Twil be a score before I find the proper title."_

_"Fine," Ash shrugged. "I'll live in a mud hut if I have to."_

_"Ye might show more enthusiasm," Edward chuckled._

_Ash glared at the King - he disliked the man for his position on the Scotch cause, one that hinted at  
intolerance that could rapidly be turned back against Ash. He would bear up and kiss the old man's ass -  
it would be no worse than kissing up to Mister Smart for six long years._

_"On the matter of Kandar..." Arthur began._

_"This I have not decided," responded Edward. "And as for thy punishment, Arthur, you are to stay in the  
service of Lord Williams and his wife until I choose. Sheila shall retain temporary control of the  
household, and ye the lands."_

_"But..." Arthur fumed._

_"Perhaps ye'll learn a lesson in leadership, young Arthur."_

_Arthur glared at Ash - Ash, naturally, stared back, his expression deliberately blasé, though he wanted  
desperately to laugh in his near-friend's smug face._

_"We have music, my lords," Sheila said, interrupting the stalemate. "If ye'd listen to us play."_

_The three men sat together, drinking their beer and listening to the two women strum and sing. Ash  
joined in, irresistibly drawn to the vibration of the music. _

_If he hurt the king's ears, he was kind enough not to mention it._

***

"I still dinna see the truth in Hal's statement," Judith interrupts.

"If you don't stay quiet we'll never get to that part," Ash grumbles.

Judith rolls her eyes. "I listen, father."

*** 

_Three months later, a rider arrived at Kandar, bearing the crest of King Edward. A hugely pregnant  
Sheila noticed him first - she had spent a sleepless night wrapped in blankets by the fire and was nearest  
the outfacing window. _

_"LOWER THE DRAWBRIDGE!" she bellowed to the guards on duty; the chains rattling as they obeyed  
her order._

_Ash was not a heavy sleeper under the best circumstances, but Sheila's shout did nothing for his frayed  
nerves. "Was goin' on?" he asked sleepily, following her to the window. "Why're you up?"_

_She patted her stomach. "Thy son chose to kick at my victuals all eve," he chuckled. "Art not  
humorous! He wishes to break my hip," she grouched to Ash._

_He tried to show her sympathy by patting her swollen middle and got a sharp kick from his child in  
response. "Watch it, junior, I'm on your side," he told the unborn child. "He'll be out soon to bug us in  
person."_

_Sheila glared at him. "Helga shall help me. As shall ye," she added._

_Ash recognized the threat in Sheila's voice and didn't dare to pursue the matter further. "Good - maybe  
she'll do something around here besides complain about me." All of Helga's disgruntlement centered  
around Ash's handling of the people or his 'mauling' Sheila 'indecently' in public; he hadn't managed yet  
to live down the old hag's catching the two of them together in the stables..._

_Ash found his tunic and a pair of pants - quickly dressing, he shoved his feet into the boots. "I'll be  
back," he informed her, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck._

_Ash went to their courtyard to meet the rider, tip him, and offer him a meal at the high board. The  
parchment remained intact until he returned to their chamber - Sheila had climbed back into bed, her eyes  
closed, peacefully resting at last, when he arrived. _

_She was nearly asleep when Ash began to read aloud the note; he soon wished he had scanned the  
document before he'd opened his mouth. "I regret to inform thee that Jacques Merteril, The Duke of  
Saccony, has arrived at court to stake his claim upon Kandar Keep and one Lady Sheila Mary Kelly. He  
claims to have obtained evidence that thy marriage is morganatic and violates the contract established  
between himself and Sheila's father. I wish to challenge this claim, but need sworn statements from ye  
both. Ye are expected at Harlech by May Day...." _

_Ash looked over his shoulder. Sheila sat up in bed, her skin a deathly pale shade. "I shall not be parted  
from thee," she said strongly. _

_"You won't," Ash told her._

_"May Day...Harlech is a two moon ride from this keep..." She paled all the more. "I cannot go with  
thee. 'Tis too close to my lying-in."_

_He frowned. "You survived a six-story fall, baby, and you're afraid of a bumpy ride?"_

_"The ride, nay. But I shall not risk delivering thy son in some filthy inn or side road." Her fingers  
steepled against her belly. "Call Arthur. We shall together devise a plan."_

_Arthur, of course, provided the Obvious Observation. "We have no choice but to ride to Wales as quickly  
as possible."_

_"They're not gonna believe me," Ash grumbled. His strange story strained all credulity under normal  
circumstances - the whole 'I married a noblewoman who's technically six hundred years older than me'  
part made him look pretty crazy. _

_"They shall," Sheila decided, "if I provide a sworn statement."_

_She managed, with great difficulty, to get out of bed, waddle to her desk and ink a quill pen. In polite  
language, she provided a statement in which she repudiated her contract with Jacques, and explained that  
she had married Ashley J. Williams with the blessing of her cousin Arthur. Excusing her absence, she  
told Edward that she expected to deliver his legitimate heir within a month's time, in the heat of early  
June, and being so close to her childbed she did not want to take the risk of a long trip. She then copied  
the letter over twice, once in Latin. _

_Sealing them with a dribble of candlewax, Sheila told them, "this, gentlemen, is my word. I expect ye  
will carry them to the king as though it were my last testament." She pressed her signet ring against each  
one, emblazoning each with the crest of Kandar Keep. Then she cupped Ash's cheek. "Dinna frown so.  
All shall be well." She made a shooing motion. "Leave me be, gentlemen - I must dress and meet thee in  
the bailey."_

_Ash remembered little of what transpired afterwards - the packing of clothing, provisions, and weapons.  
Sheila arrived before he mounted up, lovely in a loose pink house dress, somehow regal even in the  
ungainliness of her advanced pregnancy. _

_When their eyes met, he remembered the last time they'd said goodbye, and knew exactly what she  
worried about. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling the swelling of her belly between them. Their  
conversation, mundane and ordinary, stayed with him years later._

_"I'll come back," he promised._

_She hugged him, kissing the left side of his chin. "Aye, my love," she replied. When she pulled herself  
away, tears glimmered in her eyes, stubbornly unshed - she dashed them away._

_Correctly, Sheila correctly divined the meaning behind his guilt-stricken look. "Art not crying," she said.  
"'Tis the sun. It aches my eyes."_

_He rubbed his eyes against his sleeve. "Yeah. Damn sunlight..." He turned away from her and walked  
to the squire holding his horse. Once prepared to ride, he turned in his saddle and looked at her for a  
good, long, deliberate time. The line of her chin strengthened, her spine stiff. "Watch after yourself and  
the kid." _

_She nodded, her hands resting on the prominent swell of her body. "I shall pray for thy safety," she  
informed him. _

_"I'll be fine. Do you want me to leave you the gun?"_

_"Nay - we'll manage without thy 'boomstick'." She said it so seriously that he couldn't force out the  
dirty pun that popped into his mind. She walked beside his horse, a girl in an old movie chasing her train-  
trapped lover. "Be well, love. Ye carry my heart."_

_"Baby, it'll all be okay. Trust me - this is true love. It doesn't happen every day."_

_She reached for him, frustrated in her helplessness, and he gave her a hard, quick hug. Ash forced  
himself to turn away and end their mutual suffering, whipping the horse to a quicker motion. The riding  
party crossed the bailey, thundered over the drawbridge, and rose through the glen at breakneck speed,  
but Ash could only see Sheila's face before his, her eyes wet with proud and unsheddable tears._

_***_

_"Are you bluebloods always so fuckin's stuffy?" Ash complained. He and Arthur had traveled for two  
long months through the unseasonable heat to Wales and the King's summer palace. Now they lounged  
about his anteroom, surrounded by serving maidens. _

_"Ye'll never develop a taste for the finer things," complained Arthur._

_"Freezing to death, eating eels, surrounded by ugly dames; yeah, this is living." One of the serving  
wenches glared at him, and he rolled his eyes._

_Edward's sudden entrance silenced them. Arthur again fell upon his knees, but Ash stared at the stranger  
looming behind Edward._

_He was a tall bastard, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a Carey Grant face, garbed entirely in white samite  
cloth; when they locked eyes, the asshole smirked. Ash knew right away that it was Jacques. _

_"Hey, Eddie," Ash said. "Jack. We meet at last."_

_Jacques glowered. "He truly is a common bastard," he muttered._

_"D'you hear something, Arty?" he asked his companion. "I thought I heard a little French girl call me a  
bastard. But all I see's a Darryl Hannah impersonator."_

_"Gentlemen," interrupted the king, "I have read the statement of the Lady Sheila. Witnesses to the  
Williams marriage give conflicting stories as to its morganatic nature. Some say they saw his left hand in  
hers..."_

_Arthur pointed to Ash's right hand. "He couldnae help it, Sire; the left is fleshly, the right made entirely  
of metal."_

_"He lies!" Jacques cried out._

_"Perhaps ye should demonstrate for the lad," Arthur suggested._

_Ash casually crushed the jewel-encrusted goblet in his right hand, showering the floor with rubies and  
gloried in the horrified expression on Jacques' face._

_Edward glowered. "SILENCE. Taking the groom's impairment into consideration," Arthur shot Ash a  
quick glare that begged him for placidity, "I declare that this is not an intentional flaunting of the social  
code."_

_"What of my suit?" Jacques whined._

_"The lady repudiates you," Edward responded. "Quite clearly and vividly, in every language in which  
she is versed."_

_"But the woman was promised to me!" Jacques snarled._

_"And ye'd've had her, had ye not abandoned yer rank," Edward pointed out. "Tis the reason she  
repudiates thee, and why she has taken to wife with Sir Williams." Exhausted, Edward added, "I shall  
find thee a lady of suitable breeding and match thee anew, Jacques. To assure there will be no question as  
to the validity of this union, Sir Williams will re-marry the Lady Sheila in the presence of my retainers.  
All shall ride to Kandar on the morrow." More soothingly, he said to Jacques, "think no more of Sheila -  
her holdings have been gambled away by her late father. She is a prize, but a landless one."_

_Jacques would not be comforted. "Ye could give her land!"_

_"To simply take it away? I have not the time nor the patience for thy trifling!"_

_Jacques tumbled over his chair, shouting as he rose to his feet, "this isnae over, Williams!"_

_"Looks over to me, Jackie girl." Ash stared him down, yearning to wrap his fingers around the bastard's  
neck and squeeze until Jacques' eyeballs popped out._

_"Take thy leave, Jacques." The knight was fairly dragged from the room by one of Edward's men.  
Turning back to Arthur, Edward declared, "thy honesty will be rewarded, Arthur. Perhaps ye'd be  
interested in the Inniskeep Castle?"_

_Arthur's brow rose. "Tis an impressive holding. Their orchards are legendary."_

_"And it comes with a beautiful maiden..." Edward snapped his fingers. "Bring forth the Lady Gwen!"_

_Moments passed before the woman was fetched from the queen's holding. Marguerite arrived with the  
girl, pushing her forward. "Be not afraid of the man - Arthur is a good soul."_

_Gwen was a lush girl. REALLY lush. Ash stared without compunction at her oversized breast as he  
elbowed Arthur. "Least you won't drown in a flood, Arty."_

_Gwen and Arthur, however, had eyes for none but each other. "Hallo," she whispered._

_"Lovely creature," he said, grasping her by the hand kissing it for an unseemly length of time._

_"I believe the match is well met..." Marguerite flushed at the obvious attraction between the two._

_Edward coughed. "Aye. Ye'll stay to witness the ceremony, Williams! You must stand up for Arthur..."_

_"Yeah," Ash muttered. "Guess I owe him that much."_

_"All I did," Arthur retorted, "Was for Lady Sheila. She is mysteriously enamored of the oaf."_

_"SIR oaf," Ash replied._

_"Yes, a wedding!" called Edward. "Then we ride to your home!"_

_Home...Ash grinned. "Sounds like heaven, Eddie."_

_He was less than pleased an hour later as he lay in bed listening to Arthur and Gwen howl their way  
through an apparently very happy wedding night through a too-thin dividing wall._

*** 

_They nearly flew to Kandar, yet the journey was still a two-month long odyssey through fields of mud  
and rocky forest floors. Ash laughed aloud when, at last, he saw the castle's familiar outline against a  
blood red skyline - he whipped his horse to a full run and nearly tumbled off when he crossed the  
drawbridge._

_The welcome was stellar, but his wife did not stand among those waiting. Helga did, and she boxed his  
ears._

_"Always a step too slow, milord!" Before he could ask, she told him, "She is upstairs with thy son." He  
rushed off. "NOT EVEN A HELLO? I DRAGGED THY BABE INTO THE WORLD!"_

_Ash ignored her. He took the stairs four at a time, all the way to the top floor and shoved the door to their  
chamber violently open._

_She sat before the mirror, arranging her hair and wearing her finest dress. Word of their arrival might  
have preceded them, but Sheila was not prepared for his appearance; his sudden entrance made her shriek  
and lose hold of her comb, which fell to the floor and splintered._

_"Sheila." The word was barely breathed aloud._

_He found himself tackled flat on the floor before he could say much else._

_She showered his face with kisses, laughing aloud her joy; Ash twisted to plant a firm kiss upon her lips,  
to pull her body flush against his. Finally managing to draw breath, he declared, "I think you missed me,  
baby."_

_"Aye, milord." She stroked his cheek. "Ye returned, and I am most pleased."_

_He laughed. "Y'gotta know by now that nothing's gonna keep us apart." She rested her forehead against  
his, her hair falling to curtain them in privacy. "Not a stuffy little French girl, and no demon from hell.  
Nothing."_

_A whimper came from a far corner of the room, and she climbed off of Ash's still-prone body. "Thy son  
would disagree..." She moved toward the cradle and carefully picked up a small, blue-swaddled bundle.  
Eyes resting on her, Ash climbed up from the floor and onto the bed. She settled beside him and, quite  
carefully, placed the baby in his waiting arms. _

_"I have not named him," she explained. "Hath been waiting for thy return for a proper Christening."  
Sheila rested her weight against his shoulder as Ash took a long look at his son for the first time._

_Ash could not have denied the boy. Same eyes, same nose, same chin (poor kid). Then the baby reached  
out and wrapped his hand about his father's little finger and cooed, and Ash's heart turned over in his  
chest. "Kid's got charm," he finally remarked. _

_"He reacts likewise for my maids when plucked from his cradle," Sheila remarked, resting easy against  
him._

_"Flirting and he's only three months old," Ash snickered. She nuzzled his neck. "Whatya wanna call  
him?" he was unaware of his repetition - the child was a strong enchantment._

_Sheila smiled. "As I said, 'tis a matter most delayed...hath not thought of one, love." she informed Ash._

_His previous suggestions having included 'Remington' and 'Dolomite', Ash considered his next words  
very carefully. "How about Robert?"_

_Sheila beamed up at him. "Robert Edward?" she suggested._

_"Yeah," he grinned. "Robert Edward Williams." He shifted the baby's weight, turning him about, until  
he held the boy against his chest. "Whattya think of that, son?"_

_Robert responded by fountaining a mouthful of spit-up down the front of his father's favorite tunic._

***

"I dinna understand," Judith admits. "Would that nae make Robbie a bastard?"

"You still don't have the whole story, kid." She gets a hug, though, to ease her fretfulness. She shouldn't  
have to worry about stuff like this - were they living in his world, her life would be simpler. "Have some  
more cake..." he shoves the plate toward her and the thought away, then smiles brilliantly. "Do you  
know how you got your name?"

A tart look accompanies a fresh forkful of cake. "Are ye not going to finish the first story?"

"Yeah - don't be a smart ass, and answer my question."

Judith sighs. "I am named for my grandmother Kelly, my mother, Bonnie Stewart, and the two queens."

"Yeah," Ash responds. She doesn't need to know that "Judith" also signifies something more private...

***

_"ASHLEY!" Sheila squawked as a clod of dirt sailed by her head._

_"Not in the mood for a mud fight, baby?" Ash was, in fact, covered from his boots to his shoulders in  
drying mud, the result of an enthusiastic afternoon of making crumbly dried clay mud pies with Robbie.  
He's tuckered himself out pretty quickly after the swimming lesson. Ash cast fond eyes upon the little  
boy - he looked so damn innocent as he slept in the afternoon sunlight. _

_She cast sad eyes at the letter she'd been studiously writing. The ink pot and sheaves of paper were set  
aside in record speed, and Ash was smacked in the forehead by a rather large clump of mud._

_In Ash's opinion, he'd done a pretty good job - Sheila ended up covered in the clay-like mud. As always,  
she proved an ace at tossing things - he cried uncle when she nailed him in the mouth with a worm-filled  
clod of dirt._

_They ended up at the riverbank, beside the sleeping form of their two-year-old son. She rested in Ash's  
arms, their son resting in her lap, the breeze caressing the three of them. _

_Sheila ran a contemplating hand through Robbie's hair, "Do ye know what we call this place, milord?"_

_"What?"_

_"'Tis the Judith River," Sheila explained. "My father named it in memory of my mother."_

_"It's nice," Ash said mildly. It was really beautiful, actually - green, blanketed with yellow and red  
flowers, the river babbling smoothly up the mountainous path. _

_"Would ye mind, milord, if we called our first daughter Judith?" she asked._

_Ash tilted his head thoughtfully. The daughter didn't exist yet, to his knowledge. "Tryin' to tell me  
something, baby?"_

_Sheila shook her head, but her lips tilted up into a promising smile. "Hath been thinking of my mother  
often," Sheila admitted. "Hath been gone ten years now, Ashley. And I am all she left behind."_

_"Wrong," he said, patting Robbie's chubby fingers._

_She smiled. "Aye." Turning toward Ash, resting against the warmth of his chest, Sheila sighed. "I  
would have a daughter, as well," she remarked._

_He thought that would be...different. What the hell would he do with a daughter? But it couldn't be  
harder than trying to keep Robbie from wandering into the woods. "I can't promise you one..."_

_A cough startled them from the cozy intimacy. Helga stood over them, cutting an imposing figure against  
the blue sky. "Perhaps ye should gie the lordling to me."_

_Ash shrugged when Sheila looked to him for guidance. "We shall be along, Helga."_

_"Ya," Helga remarked. "Dinna spend the afternoon in the sun. It shall spot thy complexion..." she gave  
Ash a wise look as she carried the boy back up the dirt road to Kandar. "Or tan thy back and leave ye  
with a pale bosom..."_

_Sheila laughed wildly as Ash tossed a clod of mud at the departing Helga - it missed, to his good fortune._

_"Oughta trade the old bag for someone who can take direction," he muttered._

_Sheila looped her arms around Ash's body, tangling her fingers in the rough material of his cape. "I shall  
take thy direction, milord."_

_"You never listen when I open my mouth," he retorted._

_"La? Perhaps ye should offer me proper discourse." She sat up, straddling his hips, waiting for his orders._

_"Hmmm...let's put this one here..." Ash took her right hand and placed it on his chest. "And this one  
there..." he took the left and rested it against his face. "Now...." She leaned forward, kissing his lips  
gently._

_She pulled away from his embrace. "I would try, milord...." She repeated herself, her fingers creeping  
down his chest teasingly..._

***

Ash comes back to reality as he catches Judith's disgusted expression. He shoves another morsel of cake  
into his mouth. "You're named after the river," he tells her.

"La, I gathered," Judith sighs. "Might ye conclude thy story, father?"

"So impatient," he complains fondly.

"Tis a trait we share. NOW, father," Judith demands...

***

_"I dinna understand it," Henry remarked. He and Ash sat beside the fire in Kandar's great hall, their  
children playing at their feet. "The mon is land rich and is possessed of a promising future. What would  
make Jacques Merteril turn outlaw?" _

_Ash simply jerked a thumb in Sheila's direction, which made Henry burst into laughter. "Aye, I should  
have guessed that the spitfire was the root of it."_

_Sheila glowered at the two men. "Pay them no heed, young one," Bonnie requested. She'd been married  
to Henry The Red for so many years that she'd lost her fear of the man. "And silence thyself, varlet!" she  
told Henry. _

_The women turned back to their chess game as Henry chuckled at their interplay. "S'nothing to laugh at,"  
Ash told Henry. "The bastard's been burning wheat fields all over Kandar and he's been trying to steal  
our cattle for the entire fall."_

_"Aye, and slaughtered a great much the Westenbrooke's horses. I fear he wants thy blood, lad."_

_"That line's a mile long - the fucker can wait his turn," Ash retorted._

_"Papa!" Robbie cried out, clambering up Ash's legs. "May we have gingerbread?"_

_"Ask your mother." Ash delegated everything having to do with sweets to Sheila - it was easier than  
being yelled at for giving a hyperactive three-year-old too many candied figs. Robbie settled agreeably in  
his lap, the gingerbread possibly forgotten, causing a jealous Hal to clamor for Henry's attention. Isobail  
\- too young to care who paid attention to her, as long as someone's being kind - burbled happily in a  
cradle beside Bonnie. It was all so sweet and cozy that Ash couldn't believe it's real - he expects a  
demon to burst through the door, for his wife to turn into a nasty monster again._

_Sheila opened her mouth to give him an answer about the gingerbread, but she abruptly turned a ghastly  
shade of white. She held up a single index finger before bolting from the room. _

_The sound of her retching up her dinner into a chamber pot was blatantly obvious._

_Henry frowned. "I dinna think the meal was that bad."_

_Bonnie gave Henry a Knowing Look. "Come, husband. 'Tis past the wee one's bed time..." she picked  
up Isobail and took Hal's eager hand. "Shall I take Robbie?"_

_Ash reluctantly gave his child to Bonnie's care, figuring Sheila would need the break if she were sick.  
"Night, son."_

_"Nite, daddy," Robbie called from over Bonnie's other shoulder._

_"Come along, ye old sour dog..." Bonnie requested._

_Henry glowered. "I am comfortable, woman."_

_"La, more comfortable there than upon the cushion I offer?"_

_Henry grinned before slapping Ash's shoulder. "Wake me early for the festival, lad."_

_Ash snickered, turning his full attention back to the half-full mug of beer._

_Moments later, Sheila entered the room, chewing what he was able to identify as a mouthful of mint  
leaves once she came close enough to be smelled. "Y'okay, baby?"_

_Sheila nodded her head. "May I have a seat?"_

_He shrugged, and was surprised when she abruptly made herself comfortable on his lap. He frowned at  
her in confusion as she stroked the line of his jaw. "You sure you're okay?"_

_"Aye. I could not be better." She paused, just for a moment, and leaned into the warmth of his chest.  
"Ashley," she announced quietly, "I am increasing once more." She rested her chin against his collarbone  
to better watch his reaction._

_The "again" part should have tipped Ash off, but the unusual bent of her language made it hard for him to  
follow her meaning. He took a wild guess at her meaning. "You're not fat, baby."_

_She smiled, took his left hand and placed it upon her belly. "I shall be in seven months."_

_Her words and meaning collided in the confines of Ash's brain. Slowly, a grin spread across his face, and  
he embraced her fiercely. _

_"I am as pleased as thee art, milord," Sheila declared. "Tho," she added, "'tis thy fault the wee one  
breathes."_

_"My fault? Does this sound familiar?" he fluttered his lashes and said in comically high-pitched voice,  
"oh Ash! More Ash, more!"_

_Sheila punched him softly in the shoulder. "I shall give thee another son," she declared._

_"I'll be happy, either way..." Just don't die, he thinks to himself._

_She smiled. "Art the only man I know who wishes for a daughter."_

_"The world could use another you, Sheila."_

_She frowned. "La, another me to lead a man into madness..."_

_"What that asshole's doing isn't your fault," Ash informed Sheila. "You've never even met the fucker  
before and he thinks you belong to him."_

_"Aye...I prefer thy method. Ye passed three hours afore deciding I belonged to thee," she teased._

_"You don't belong to me, baby," Ash retorted - he's never been foolhardy enough to believe that._

_"I belong with you," she corrected gently, staring into the fireplace, absorbing the warmth of his body.  
"Speak no more of the wretch. Let us rest, love."_

_Ash liked her idea - why spoil a beautiful night by gabbing about Jack? He tucked his head against  
Sheila's collarbone and stared into the fire, wondering to himself if Sheila would find "Bon Jovi" an  
acceptable name for a young knight..._

_***_

_The months passed amiably enough, and Jacques's efforts at vandalism were apparently stymied by the  
long winter months. Then spring arrived late in the border country, and May dawned hot and arid. _

_Ash had been tempted to cancel the May Day festivities. With the dawning of the hot months, Jacques  
turned violent, and several young peasants had fallen in defense of their feudal master's lands. The  
likelihood that the festivities themselves would attract his violent anger seemed quite likely. Yet Ash  
knew the very suggestion of cancelling the fair would cause riots in the village; the people had earned  
their holiday, and Ash must provide for them in spite of the danger._

_His resentment over this reminded him of why he never could have been king. He had no patience at all  
for these trifling little rules thrust upon him. _

_Most of the tension disappeared as he walked through the fair itself, a very pregnant Sheila on his arm and  
Robbie at his left hand side. Henry and Bonnie, the children in tow, tagged along, dragging Ash among  
the booths and plying him with sweet mead and fairy cakes._

_It was Bonnie who suggested they split up - the women wanted to watch a team of acrobats pile  
themselves into odd shapes. The men sought a more visceral entertainment in a boxing exhibition._

_Ash sensed something had gone wrong long before he ordered Henry to come with him to check on the  
women. It was all too familiar, that awful, sickening sensation in his stomach - the too-familiar tingle  
running down his spine..._

_Then someone shouted that the king had been stolen, that the book was gone, that both had been snatched  
by a man with white eyes wearing the coat of arms of the Merteril family..._

_Ash immediately ceded control of Robbie to Helga. "Lock yourself in the nursery, and don't come out  
until I get back." The wench, bless her, did as he requested. "Henry, I..." but his friend stood further up  
the path, staring at a limp form lying in the mud._

_Ash knew before he arrived that it would be an ugly thing to see. Bonnie's body had been tossed, lifeless,  
into a pig trough, her form covered in defensive wounds, her chest an empty hole where her heart had  
literally been cut from her body._

_He could do nothing for Henry, who fell into a stupor. He called his gate guard and ordered the man put  
to bed; then Ash stared at the woman's desecrated body, a violent rage boiling in him. Always the  
women, always violently and irrevocably. "Time to pick on someone your own size, you demonic  
shitheads," Ash growled, then used his next breath to call for a horse._

_***_

_Ash claimed often that it was some sort of weird miracle that led him to Jacque's hiding place. He knew,  
somehow, that the bastard would take them to the caves._

_The tableau that greeted Ash made his blood boil._

_Jacques was Jacques no longer - the fair-haired pretty boy had become a muscle-bound monster drooling  
blue slime onto the fair skin of Sheila. His wife struggled violently in the wicked thing's grip, her dress  
having been torn from her body and replaced by a badly-sewn muslin wedding dress, her face covered by  
a cheesecloth veil._

_King Edward struggled against his bonds in a far corner of the cave. He set pleading eyes on Ash as he  
shadowed the leftmost cavern wall._

_"Come, sweeting," cooed Jacques as he wroth over Sheila's body. "'Tis a legal marriage. The king hath  
decreed thy union with Williams null, and we are wed legally now by his own hand..."_

_"I would never willingly wed thee, ye vile thing!" Sheila spat._

_He laughed coldly. "Have ye no care for my new form, milady? Were ye of thy true nature, I believe ye  
might find me pleasing..." his fingers ran across her décolletage. "The book did have a passage that  
teaches how best to spread the contamination..." His right hand immobilized her flailing arms as his left  
began to trek below her belt line._

_Ash glanced down at the flat rock upon which Jacques had made a corrupted bridal bed for himself and  
Sheila - how had the bastard gotten his hands on the Necromicon? No time to guess..._

_"No," Sheila gasped. "Not again!"_

_Ash's heart twisted. Again? His eyes searched the cave floor for a distraction..._

_The rock made a perfect arc through the air and struck the bastard upon his temple. Wholly diverted, the  
monster turned, snarling, toward Ash. _

_"Hey princess...put down the doll..." he cocked his rifle. "It's tea party time..."_

_A twisted smile crossed the beast's face. "Prince charming to the rescue again," he snapped. "I will tear  
the flesh from thy bones, Williams, to make my wedding bed sheets..."_

_"Shoulda known you'd be into necrophilia," Ash snapped._

_"ENOUGH OF YOUR PRATTLING!" the beast shouted, releasing Sheila's hands and climbing over her  
body to face Ash eye to eye. "WE SHALL FIGHT IN THE WAY OF MEN - WITH SWORDS."_

_He waited, with silent amusement, for Jacques to withdraw his sword and get into a stance. Firing the  
rifle again and again into Jacques' body, he turned the former-knight's head into a bloody stump of gray  
pulp. Jacques' body staggered backward, flipping backwards over Sheila and landing in a lump beside  
the rock._

_Ash rushed up to Sheila, yanking off her wedding veil, and she joyfully threw herself into his arms._

_"Bonnie..." she gasped out._

_"We found her...I'm sorry..."_

_She shook her head. "Not thy fault. Ye saved me again, love...." Her eyes widened. Before Ash could  
react, she seized the gun out of his grip, cocked the rifle, and blasted five shots into the suddenly-mobile  
body of the monster. Now truly dead, Sir Jacques Merteril slumped to the floor of the cave in a flood of  
green, oozing puss._

_"Hit the road, Jacques," she snarled, then handed the rifle back to Ash. "I havenay been able to dislodge  
that song from my mind since ye whistled it this morning, milord."_

_He grinned, holstering the rifle. "Not bad." He took the Necromicon in one hand and Sheila's left in the  
other._

_"I learned at the feet of the master." She wormed out of Ash's grip, looking over her shoulder at Edward.  
"Let us untie him."_

_That they did. "Marvelous work, cousin," Edward complimented Sheila. "Wish for anything, and I shall  
grant it."_

_Sheila reached out for Ash's hand. "Will ye marry us?"_

_"Here?" Ash wondered. They were covered in muck, and Sheila's bizarre wedding gown was not the  
height of fashion._

_She nodded. "I married once at thy hest and once at the hest of the king. This wedding I shall choose,  
love."_

_Ash shrugged. "She's the boss."_

_Edward nodded. "But thy second marriage remains valid within the church," he noted. "This would be a  
simple civil formality."_

_"I know," Sheila declared. "'Tis for us."_

_Edward shrugged. "Join hands...thy RIGHT hand in her right, Williams..."_

_But the second their hands touched, a rush of warm water covered the floor beneath them and soaked their  
feet. _

_Simultaneously, Ash and Sheila looked down at their feet then, puzzled, up at Edward._

_The old king smiled. "I believe the child wishes to attend thy ceremony..."_

***

"What happened next?'

"Not what. Who." He pokes her shoulder. 

"Oh," Judith blushes. "'Tis my fault that ye married mother in childbed?"

"Yeah, but you were worth the effort," he teases. Picking up the now-empty platter of cake, he explains,  
"We rode like maniacs to get back to Kandar in time, too. Barely made it. Any questions?"

Judith sighs. "One. Be I legitimate or illegitimate?"

"Eddie was so happy with me for saving his skin that he had the first wedding declared legit. By the time  
he got back to London, everything was on the level. Made me a baron, too." He pulls the edge of her  
covers further up her body. "You were bastards for a whole two months."

Judith's shoulders slope. "Oh," she murmurs. "We have lived such LIVES, father," she says, in a world-  
weary voice.

Ash laughs. "And you've got years left to get through!" he says the words and know they will be true,  
for he will force them into being.

"Father?"

Ash turns at the sound of her voice.

"I would convey my appologies to Hal. Perhaps on the morrow we could ride to the Judith River?"

"Sure," Ash retorts. "If you bring the gun."

Judith yawns as she relaxes against the pillows. "Thank ye, father."

Ash brushes his lips across her forehead, gently. "Welcome, sweetheart." 

*** 

Sheila watches the touching scene from the doorway. The man has a way of redoubling her love for him  
in the strangest of ways. Her affection is nearly a living being beside her, whispering _remember_  
in her ear...

***

_"She has the biggest brown eyes I've ever seen."_

_Sheila opened her own at Ash's declaration, surveying the windows to guess the time, then searching the  
length of the room. She had labored long and hard, a full day's pain, and he had stayed with her the entire  
time._

_He stood near the torchlight, examining the face of his newborn child with frank curiosity. Her little  
hands looped about his pinky finger, clinging for dear life. _

_"A lighter shade, as yours are?"_

_Ash looked up at the sound of her voice, then walked to the bed, carefully bringing the baby to her  
mother. "Dark, like yours," he said. Uninvited, he climbed into bed beside them. "Lookit that mug.  
She's you all over again."_

_Sheila shook her head. "She has thy lips." Sheila kissed her husband's, then nuzzled the baby's downy  
head. _

_"Hope she won't have my voice," Ash teased._

_"Oh no!" Sheila chuckled, cradling the child closer. "Poor Judith."_

_"Judith what? She needs a middle name," Ash pointed out._

_"We should name her for the queens- past and present. 'Twould please Edward. And...I would  
remember Bonnie...and Mary! She needs a saint name for protection," Sheila declared._

_"D'y wanna spread those out a little, baby?"_

_She shook her head. "She may be the last, Ashley. We can never be certain..."_

_"Okay, that'll be fine. Judith Mary Eleanor Marguerite Bonnie Williams." Ash's eyes crossed._

_She laughed. "Repeat it, milord...Judith Mary Eleanor Marguerite..."_

_"I got it, I've got it," Ash responded. "Speaking of getting things - the friar's downstairs waiting for  
us..."_

_"He shall wait two weeks," Sheila replied. "I must remain abed."_

_"That's what I've been trying to ask - how do you feel about getting married up here?"_

_Sheila glanced down at herself - she'd been perfumed and washed after her birthing ordeal, but her bed  
gown did not seem the proper attire. This day had taught her a lesson, however. "I shall have to arrange  
my hair..." she tugged at a dark spit curl that had cascaded down from his hairline. "Ye might do the  
same."_

_"You look beautiful," Ash said, sincerely, pushing his hair back. "Don't change a thing..."_

_"The guests..."_

_"All in mourning for Bonnie. It'll just be the four of us and the friar. What you wanted," Ash told her.  
He picked the baby up and tenderly took her to her cradle, then petted Robbie's sleepy head - he had  
fallen asleep sitting beside the cradle in a show of loyalty._

_The way he watched their children told Sheila everything she needed to know about the sort of future life  
with Ash would bring her. _

_"Do ye mind, milord?"_

_"Mm?"_

_"That she art a lass?"_

_Ash grinned. "I said I wanted another you, and now I've got one." He groaned. "God help me."_

_Sheila laughed. "This one will be a terror, I fear."_

_"She's too little to do anything now," Ash pointed out, clearly enjoying the sight of the baby. "So, you  
wanna get married, sugar? We can always put it off 'til tomorrow."_

_Sheila knew too well that tomorrow might never get there. "Aye, love," she said. "Bring the friar."_

_***_

His body presses into hers from behind. "Unf. How very unsubtle of thee, love," Sheila tells Ash when  
she places Sofia in her cradle. 

"Subtle's not my strong suit, baby," he points out unnecessarily. 

"La," she replies. "Dinna sneak up on me. I have lost more combs that way." 

He snorts, pets Sofia's head. "I always thought the boys would drive me all the way over the bend first. But nope, it's the girls. This one's gonna outdo her sister and turn my hair gray," he complains. 

Sheila chuckles. "Will they nay be worth the struggle, milord?" 

The answer is the same as it was eighteen years before. 

"Every minute, sugar." 

_THE END_

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction uses characters from **The Evil Dead Trilogy** , all of whom are the property of the **Ghost House/Universal Studios**. No money was gained from the writing of this fanfiction and all are used under the strictures of of the Berne Convention.


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